


My Rose

by nervousn8



Series: Roses and Dragons [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Disaster Gays, F/F, I'm Bad At Tagging, Minor canon divergence, Not Beta Read, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2019-09-29 03:29:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 77,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17195669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nervousn8/pseuds/nervousn8
Summary: After losing her twin brother to the order meant to protect him, Rosemarie flees to escape the guilt that threatens to eat her alive. She lives out nearly twenty years as a fisherman in Rivain, battling the withdrawal that keeps her leashed to the templars. When her mother's request she attend the Conclave goes horribly wrong, Rosemarie clings to her brother's name and fights to keep herself grounded in this sprawling mess of lyrium drenched war. If she can't do it for herself, then she'll do it for him.





	1. Prologue

_Dearest Rosemarie,_

_How are you, my darling? I do hope Rivain has been treating you well; your father and I know how much you enjoy that quiet fishing village you’ve found. You caught a shark recently, did you not? I’m still not certain how you managed that, but your father greatly appreciated your rather_ tasteful _sketch. Stick to singing, my love._

_Pleasantries aside, I’m so sorry to bring this to your attention, though I am sure you already know of what’s going on. I would apologize further, however, you already know how I feel about apologies._

_Your father and I implore you to go to Divine Justinia’s Conclave. The war between the mages and the Templars has cost us far too much, and we don’t want a second hand account of what the verdict was, nor the discussions had._

_Furthermore, Burgess’ youngest daughter is a mage. We’ve kept her from the public eye, and are searching for an apostate who would be willing to teach her how to control her magic. Burgess was originally planning to attend the Conclave personally, but Marina’s magic complicates things._

_Neither of your other brothers will go- I’ve already written to them. They are too entangled in politics and trade to leave. A good Trevelyan drops everything for family, but it seems they’ve forgotten in favor of power._

_I know Remington’s death still weighs on you, My Rose. And I know that no matter how many times I tell you, regardless of how untrue your belief is, you will continue to live as though his death is your fault. And no matter how shallow this request may seem of me, as I invoke his name, please attend the Conclave for Remington. If not for me or your father, nor your brothers and niece, then do it for him._

_-All my love, Delphina_

* * *

_Mother,_

_Give the family my love, and give Marina my old dolls. Tell her they’re from Auntie Mar, and they’ll protect her from the demons in her dreams. She needs them._

_-For Remi_

* * *

_Rosemarie,_

_I fear I’ve sent you to your death. They say the Conclave’s explosion killed thousands- all who attended are dead. Your father is sick with grief; your brothers are heartbroken. Marina has not left her mother’s arms._

_What kind of mother gets her youngest children killed? I have failed you, My Rose. I thought I could save Marina – save her from your brother’s fate – and what did I do? I killed you, Rosemarie. My beautiful Rose: I let you die. I am so sorry._


	2. The Prisoner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I had not thought you’d be taller than me, when I pictured our meeting again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please let me know if anything needs fixing. my grammar friends are all sleeping and i lack the self control to wait for them to wake up.

Haven is a small, frozen village, with only a chantry made of stone truly suited for the weather. The rest of the buildings are made of wood and tied together almost haphazardly. The influx of refugees and attendants alike led to hastily constructed lodgings, and when the sheer number of people overwhelmed them, they turned to simple tents set up along the road and in the valley outside Haven’s wooden walls.

It is also terribly cold, Remi notes morosely, pulling her borrowed mercenary coat closer around herself. She longs for the warm sea air of Rivain, the sound of gulls far more preferable to the incessant, obnoxious chatter of her fellow nobles.

Is she truly a noble anymore?

By birth and name, she supposes she is. Yet as they all make the trek towards the Conclave, corralled like druffalo between guards and servants, Remi cannot help but feel estranged from them. They all huddle together like scared fish, yet avoid each other like sharks amidst the reef. Fifteen years of working with the people, _for_ the people, is she truly a noble anymore?

The Temple of Sacred Ashes is a building she can admire. It is large and beautiful, the stonework of such fine craftsmanship that she wishes to run and tell Herah. But Herah is back home in her shop sculpting statues of the finest stone, and Remi is being almost shoved into the large room where the talks will be had. She sticks herself to the wall near the door as quickly as possible, content to stand with the servants while the other attendees take seats as close to the Divine as possible. The servants shuffle ever so slightly away from her, and her heart drops. It seems she is still a noble in looks as well.

A hush passes over the room when the doors closest to the Divine’s stand open. A number of guards enter first, dressed unlike the Templars who’d normally be tasked with the Divine’s livelihood. Whispers rise as soon as Divine Justinia steps into the large room, flanked by her Left and Right Hands, and followed by even more guards.

Remi feels her breath catch at the sight of Cassandra’s face. Had it not been for how publicized the names of the Divine’s Hands were, she feels she would have never recognized her. Gone are the soft cheeks and open eyes of their childhood, instead replaced by the harsh lines of battle, the guarded eyes of a warrior. A small part of Remi wants to feel bitter at the sight of her, but the logical part of her is content. Cassandra became a Seeker just as she wanted, became more involved in the religion she loves, and Remi knows she can be happy with that.

“Good people,” Divine Justinia begins, and Remi settles on the wall behind her. She takes her eyes from Cassandra’s face to set her attention upon the speakers of the debate. Her stomach rumbles and she curses softly: these talks just got a lot longer.

* * *

A recess is called when an argument nearly escalates to fighting. Justinia is quickly escorted from the room, along with the arguing individuals. Remi could skip with joy as she leaves the room and ventures down a hallway, forgetting her rumbling stomach in favor of a chance to explore. This temple is so big and well-constructed that she knows she’ll find things worth telling Herah. She won’t go very far, as the only reason she is here is to tell her family of the happenings.

The plan to not wander very far is quickly forgotten when she finds three of the Divine’s guards strewn about the opening of a secluded hallway. They’re all varying degrees of dead, and her heart rate picks up when she finds even more further down the hall. They end in a small heap around a corner, and she is left to face a door alone. The magic coming through that door is strong enough to smell, and her breathing picks up as she begins to panic. Have the mages from the argument decided killing the Divine to be an appropriate response to her unwillingness to give them exactly what they asked for?

When she smells the blood in their magic, and she hears the Divine shout for help, all doubts leave her mind. She tries the handle, and upon finding it locked, takes a few steps backward to charge it with her shoulder. The door bangs open, and her shout of protest dies on her tongue. She’d been prepared for blood magic, prepared to find the Divine dead on the floor, prepared to meet her end at the hands of the people she’d once fight to protect, but this was nothing like any of those things.

“What the fuck?” She asks, more to herself than anyone in this room, but it is enough.

Everything happens far faster than she could have been ready for, the strange metal orb smacked into her left hand, searing pain, and far too much green. Green and spiders and _so much fear_ , but there’s a woman who beckons her forward with warm light – like the summers of her childhood – and Remi finds peace before her head hits the ground.

* * *

 The pain in her neck is the first thing that wakes her up, though it’s quickly overshadowed by the electricity shooting upwards from her left hand. She screws her eyes shut and goes to massage her palm with her right hand, wondering if it’d simply fallen numb, but her hand won’t move. Neither of her hands will move, she realizes in a panic, eyes flying open to see just what is restraining her. It could be lethal if she is tangled in one of her own fishing nets.

It is not a fishing net, though she wishes it had been when she sees the stocks she is bound in. However, the stocks are not nearly as frightening as the glowing green crack in the center of her palm. She gasps when it sparks, spitting green electricity onto her fingertips and up through her veins, needling at her heart. Her eyes are wide when the door ahead of her, which she has only just noticed, is opened rather forcefully.

She’d not been aware of them beforehand, but the guards that’d had their swords trained on her step back and away as Cassandra approaches. The Seeker is livid, and she is trailed by Sister Nightingale. Remi’s sudden hope for an explanation dims quickly at the sight of them both.

Cassandra circles her and bends down to her ear, demanding, “Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now.” Remi wants to defend herself, but she is not sure why she is defending. “The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead.”

She opens her mouth, whispers a small, “Cassandra-“ before the seeker cuts her off.

“Except for you.” Remi shudders at the thought of this being true. There had been so many people – nobles and servants, Templars and mages, simple refugees who wished to watch the proceeding – inside of that temple.

“All of those people?” Her statement ends in a question, mind racing as she tries to recall what had happened. There is no way that many people could be dead- what could even kill that many people, and why were they convinced she did it? How did she survive something that killed everyone at the Conclave?

If everyone who attended the Conclave is dead, how are the Left and Right Hands of the Divine standing in front of her?

Cassandra grabs her wrist with enough force to nearly pull her upward and away from that thought, sneering down into her face with malicious intent. “Explain _this_.” The hole in her palm sparks again, and Cassandra throws it down with more force than she’d picked it up. Remi grapples for an answer, an explanation, but thinking too hard about what had happened hurt.

“I can’t.” The statement tastes sour on her tongue, the simple fact that she truly does not know causing her more stress than anything else that has gone on. If she knew how the mark had gotten there, she could give an explanation as to why she was innocent.

“What do you mean you _can’t_?” Cassandra’s voice raises, and Remi’s heart rate does the same.

“I don’t know what that is, or how it got there.” She tries for the tone she uses to placate traders who feel they have been cheated, but it only seems to rile Cassandra’s already fragile temper. She surges forward and takes her by the shoulders, giving her a small shake.

“You’re lying!” she shouts, and Remi is thankful for the padding in the shoulders of this coat, nearly positive Cassandra’s grip would have left a mark. But then she is reaching for her sword, and Remi can feel her heart settle in the pit of her stomach. Dying at the hands of an old flame: how sadly amusing

If not for Leliana’s timely intervention, Remi is sure she would have done just that. “We need her, Cassandra.” She states firmly, and Remi wants nothing more than to agree. Her mind halts for a second time; what do they need her for? Leliana turns to her, seemingly waiting, and Remi takes a second to put away her panic and grapple for logic instead.

“So what happens now?” Not the logic she was hoping for, but it’s better than the shouting she would have really preferred.

“Do you remember what happened? How this began?”

Thinking too hard still hurts her, drags her brain down the inside of her skull and squeezes, but Remi searches the recesses of her mind anyway. Cassandra begins to circle her again, distinctly reminding her of a shark about to steal the bait from her lines, and she fights back that panic again. “I remember running. _Things_ were chasing me-“ things shaped like spiders that screamed like demons, rotting in the farthest parts of her head, “-and then… a woman?” It’s another question, because had it truly been a woman? It’d felt like home, like a mother would, but had it been a woman?

“A woman?” Leliana asks, and Remi gets the vague feeling that this is not the first time a woman has been mentioned.

“She reached out to me, but then…” Remi attempts to flinch away from her own head, running out of memories that may only be dreams and finding blistering pain instead.

Cassandra seems to be too impatient to allow her to recover, herding Leliana towards the door. “Go to the forward camp, Leliana. I will take her to the rift.” Remi blinks away the pain in enough time to realize how terribly ominous that sounds. She keeps her eyes on her hands, pulling survival techniques from the one and only time she’d been a hostage as a girl.

Cassandra casts a shadow when she crouches in front of her, removing her hands from the stocks and retying them in rope. Remi looks up, tries to catch her eye, asks her what had happened. Cassandra rocks back on her heels, and for the first time since she’d walked into that room seems the smallest bit hesitant. She pulls her to her feet, only pausing for a moment to help Remi readjust before answering. “It will be easier to show you.”

The walk out of the Chantry is tense, the lack of sisters inside ringing warning bells in her head. Those warning bells quickly turn into horns when the large doors open and reveal a green sky. She has to shield her eyes from it, too used to the dim light of the torches, but dropping her hands away from her eyes kicks up that same panic from only minutes before.

The sky is the same green as the crack in her hand.

“We call it ‘The Breach.’ It’s a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour.” Cassandra states from her place further up the path, and when Remi looks at her, her eyes are glued to the sky. The Seeker turns toward her, and Remi keeps glancing to and from the hole in the sky and the crack in her hand. “It’s not the only such rift. Just the largest. All were caused by the explosion at the Conclave.”

Remi’s head is reeling, trying to wrap itself around her missing memories probably being the key to why the sky has been ripped open. “An explosion can do that?” The question really shouldn’t have been asked, as the explosion clearly did do that, but Cassandra’s temper does not seem to resurface as she’d thought it would.

Cassandra approaches her now, face set and serious. “This one did. Unless we act, the Breach may grow until it swallows the world.” That is by no means a happy thing to imagine, and Remi is about to promise everything she can offer when the Breach sputters in the sky and crackles outward. The mark in her palm responds, sending her crashing to her knees as her muscles spasm and clench with each shock through her veins. She clenches her fist and curls inward, flinching away from Cassandra when she kneels in front of her.

“Each time the Breach expands, your mark spreads… and it is killing you. It may be the key to stopping this, but there isn’t much time.”

Remi’s mind draws up memories like this from her childhood – their childhood – but she tucks them away. There is no time to reminisce when the world is crumbling around her, and her cursed hand may be the only thing that can stop it. She doesn’t question because no matter how many years have passed, she does not simply stop trusting someone. She sucks in a deep breath and nods, locking eyes with Cassandra. “I understand.”

“Then..?”

“I’ll do what I can. Whatever it takes.” She watches Cassandra for a moment, breathing a small sigh of relief when the Seeker stands and helps her to her feet. She’d been unsure if she could have gotten back to them on her own, legs still trembling from the aftershock of the mark. At least she’d assumed Cassandra was helping her up, but that assumption was quickly squashed under her borrowed boots when Cassandra held her by the back of the coat and led her through the people.

Someone spits at them, at _her_ , and Remi isn’t sure how to react. “They have decided your guilt. They need it.” She keeps quiet while Cassandra speaks, both in dire need of an explanation and concerned any attempt to respond would set off the crowd on either side of them. “The people of Haven mourn our Most Holy, Divine Justinia, head of the Chantry. The Conclave was hers.”

She wonders, briefly, if Cassandra does not know who she is. Anyone with eyes knows who the Divine was. They’ve left the crowd by now, yet Cassandra still continues to explain. “It was a chance for peace between mages and Templars. She brought their leaders together. Now, they are dead. We lash out, like the sky. But we must think beyond ourselves. As she did.” The gate of the bridge closes behind them, and Cassandra stops them. “Until the Breach is sealed.”

Remi can see the knife she grabs before she grabs it, and if not for the small speech she’d just given, it’d be easy to believe Cassandra was about to kill her. “There will be a trial.” she states, cutting Remi’s binds. “I can promise no more. Come. It is not far.”

“Where are you taking me?”

“Your mark must be tested on something smaller than the Breach.”

Wrists sufficiently rubbed raw, Remi jogs after Cassandra across the bridge and toward the other gate. They’ve just passed a set of soldiers positioned to defend when she finally calls, “Do you know who I am, Cassandra?” The Seeker throws a glance over her shoulder before weaving around fleeing soldiers who would have plowed through them.

“I recognized you, Rosemarie.”

“Ah, I just wanted to make sure.” It’s been years since anyone has used her full name vocally. And to hear it from Cassandra, after all these years, twists her insides in ways it shouldn’t.

They’ve almost made it to the next bridge when the Breach pulses again, sending electric bolts through her veins and bringing her to her knees. Cassandra grabs her shoulders and helps her to her feet again, giving her what could barely be described as an encouraging pat. “The pulses are coming faster now,” Cassandra states, turning to start jogging toward the bridge again. “The larger the Breach grows; the more rifts appear. The more demons we face.”

“How did I survive the blast?” It is a genuine question, one that has been bugging her since Leliana left ahead of them. Remi speeds up a bit to try and catch up to Cassandra, intent on hearing her reply as they turn on to the bridge.

“They say you stepped out of a rift, then fell unconscious. They say a woman was in the rift behind you-“ Cassandra is cut off when a streak of green slams into the bridge just ahead of them, causing the part of the bridge they’re standing on to crumble. Remi tucks into herself and rolls into the impact, exhaling heavily once she hits the ice. Cassandra staggers to her feet behind her, but Remi is far more focused on the demon rising out of the ice where another green projectile had just crashed.

She scrambles to her feet and away from it, both intrigued and panicked by the sight of a demon in the waking world. She’d dealt with them in her dreams before, but this one could actually touch her. “Stay behind me!” Cassandra demands, and she’d be content to do so if not for the fact that the ice the Seeker had just vacated was now bubbling and hissing menacingly.

Remi glances to her sides, rather reluctant to have to punch a demon, and breathes a sigh of relief when she spots a great sword to her left amidst the rubble. It has been years since she’s actually used a sword, having stuck to a hammer for the manual labor she’d done in Rivain, but she couldn’t have been all that rusty, could she?

The answer to her own question was yes, in fact, she could be that rusty. She gives a startled squeal when the demon manages to deflect her – rather blunt – sword, and she has to jump to the right to avoid its claws. She pivots on her heel to face it and slices through its side, cringing when the ichor that is its blood bubbles out. One final swing leaves the sword embedded halfway through its neck, and the demon dissolves around her blade. She suppresses a shudder and turns to Cassandra, a small smile on her face.

“It’s over,” she breathes, making her way over to where the Seeker dismembers her own demon. Remi is not prepared for Cassandra to turn on her, however, blade still drawn and face guarded. Does she genuinely think she’ll attack?

“Drop your weapon. _Now_.”

Part of Remi wants to make a smart comment, test Cassandra’s patience, but the look in her eyes leads her to believe Cassandra is not opposed to cutting her hand off and leaving the rest of her behind. “Fine,” she relents, “have it your way.” She lowers her sword toward the ice slowly, as to refrain from startling Cassandra into stabbing her.

“Wait.” Remi pauses in the discarding of her sword, raising an eyebrow at Cassandra. “I cannot protect you,” the Seeker says, “and I cannot expect you to be defenseless. I should remember you agreed to come willingly.” Remi swings the sword over her shoulder, offering Cassandra a small smirk when she turns to look at her.

“It’s good to see you can still think logically, Cassandra.” The Seeker doesn’t offer a response, instead passing her a few healing potions and a strap to carry her sword. “Thanks.” She murmurs, and Cassandra grunts her halfhearted reply. They continue up the snowy hill and towards the rift Cassandra had mentioned previously, picking their way over bodies and debris. “Where are all your soldiers?” She questions offhandedly, concentrating more on avoiding tripping on a rock than the words coming out of her mouth.

“At the forward camp, or fighting. We are on our own for now.” Remi is still unsure as to when Cassandra became so very ominous and secretive, but there are nearly 22 years she’s missing. Things have changed, that much was obvious. They come over the top of a small drop, overlooking two more of the demons from earlier sliding around on the ice like upright snakes. “There, watch out!” Cassandra exclaims, unnecessarily drawing the demons’ attention. “If we flank them, we may gain the advantage.”

Still uncertain about the sword, Remi glances around again in hopes there’s anything else she could use as a weapon. Sure enough, half buried in the snow, is a large sledgehammer. She could nearly cry in relief, dropping the sword behind her and hefting the hammer into her hands. She jumps down the ledge after Cassandra, pleased to have far more control over this weapon than her last. She brings it down directly atop one of the demon’s heads, watching in satisfaction as the creature is crushed into the ice, where it dissolves.

Cassandra has dispatched the other demon, nudging the rags that remain with the toe of her boot. “What _is_ that?” Remi asks, poking it with her gloved hand. When it doesn’t move, or burn a hole in her glove, she cautiously picks it up and glances up at Cassandra. “Do you have any use for this stuff?”

“There is a woman back at Haven, Mineave, who studies things like this. But we do not-“ Remi has already tucked it into one of the many pockets of her borrowed coat before Cassandra can finish, and she laughs when the Seeker scoffs in the back of her throat. They sheath their weapons and continue on their way.

Three different sets of demons later, Cassandra seems to be losing patience. Remi has stopped to collect nearly everything she can, only offering little smiles and waves whenever Cassandra attempts to usher her onwards. “We’re getting close to the rift! You can hear the fighting.”

She’s still a few steps below Cassandra on the stairs, but she _can_ hear the fighting. The mark on her hand is also crackling faintly, and there’s a pull in the back of her head to go right. “Who’s fighting?” She calls back, as it’d be good to know who she should and should not kill, but Cassandra remains cryptic as ever.

“You’ll see soon. We must help them.”

Cassandra jumps down from another ledge and Remi follows, taking only a moment to survey the combatants. She makes the rather reasonable assumption that the demons are the ones she should be going after, and brings her hammer down upon one who seemed ready to slash the throat of a young soldier. The man scrambles away and picks up his sword again, stuttering a thank you before running off to help a dwarf with a crossbow as big as he is.

Remi turns to help someone else, only to have the elven man she’d seen earlier grab her wrist and drag her toward the rift. “Quickly, before more come through!” he shouts, thrusting her hand upward into the rift. The panic wells inside of her, and if not for the mark seeming to lock her in place, she would have jerked her arm away and probably punched the elven man. The muscles in her forearm tense suddenly, trembling with the strength of whatever is happening to her arm, locking her entire body in place. The release of all that pent up energy nearly throws her backwards, but she catches herself and simply stumbles.

The inside of her hand feels horribly full, but the rift is absent from the sky, so she supposes that’s all that really matters. She throws an accusing glance at the mage, rubbing her thumb gently over the crack in her palm. “What did you do?”

“ _I_ did nothing. The credit is yours.”

That is a lie if she’s ever heard one, but testing people’s patience does not currently seem wise. Instead she reaches down to grab the hammer she’d dropped, tucking it into the strap on her back as she waves her marked hand at him. “You mean this.”

“Whatever magic opened the Breach in the sky also placed that mark upon your hand. I theorized the mark might be able to close the rifts that have opened in the Breach’s wake- and it seems I was correct.” This man, whose name she still does not know, seems far too smug during the end of the world to be trustworthy. She looks down her nose at him, eyebrow raised and lips set in a small frown.

“Meaning it could also close the Breach itself.” Cassandra joins in from behind her, coming to stand at her side.

“Possibly.” The elven man responds turning his head back to face Remi. “It seems you hold the key to our salvation.” The smile she gives him is only half fake, and she hopes he’s not being genuine.

A voice behind them – the dwarven man – calls out, “Good to know! Here I thought we’d be ass-deep in demons forever.” Remi turns to look at him, slipping her marked hand into one of her pockets and waving at him with the other. “Varric Tethras: rogue, storyteller, and occasionally unwelcome tagalong.” He throws a wink in Cassandra’s direction, and the noise of disgust it draws from her has Remi suppressing a laugh.

“Remi: prisoner, fisherman, and incredibly good looking woman,” she offers, “It’s a pleasure.”

“You may reconsider that stance, in time.” Offers the elven mage, who still has not given his name. She is growing increasingly frustrated with the apparent lack of straightforwardness. She turns back to face him, arms crossed and the smile she uses on her buyers plastered on her face.

“And what is your name, friend? Calling you Elf of Baldy seems rather rude, but those are the only things you’ve given me.”

He smirks at her, seeing the challenge in her eyes and biting. “You could also call me Mage, if we are going down this road.” When all she does is snort, he continues. “My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions. I am pleased to see you still live.” She slouches her shoulders for effect, giving a small huff as she follows Cassandra out of the corner of her eye. Remi had long since determined him a healer, his hands too smooth to be that of a true battlemage.

“I had such faith in that sentence, Solas. Please try not to sound so horribly smug the next time you fish for my thanks.” She offers him a smirk, eyes shining with mirth. “You seem to know a great deal about it all.” She’s baited him yet again, a roundabout way of accusing him of knowing just a tad too much.

It is Cassandra who answers, however, rejoining the conversation and moving to stand by Remi’s side. “Solas is an apostate, well-versed in such matters.” She glances down at Cassandra and then back at Solas, eyebrow raised.

“Technically all mages are now apostates, Cassandra. My travels have allowed me to learn much of the Fade, far beyond the experience of any circle mage. I came to offer whatever help I can give with the Breach. If it is not closed, we are all doomed, regardless of origin.”

Remi acknowledges that his attitude is commendable, but he’s reminding her of the shifty cat who always tries to steal from her stand at the market. He’s got a liar’s face, and his presence here seems almost too convenient. Then again, she’d found the hammer exactly when she needed it, so maybe Solas was just another part of her strange kind of luck.

He turns away from Remi and towards Cassandra, so she follows suit. “Cassandra, you should know: the magic involved here is unlike any I have seen. Your prisoner is no mage. Indeed, I find it difficult to imagine _any_ mage having such power.”

“Understood. We must get to the forward camp quickly.” She and Solas move towards the fence to their right.

Varric moves around her, offering her a shrug and a small smirk. “Well, Bianca’s excited!” She moves ahead him, slowing her steps a bit when she realizes he is trying – and failing – to match her pace.

“Bianca?” she asks, and the fond look Varric throws over his shoulder at his crossbow makes her a tad uncomfortable.

“Bianca and I have been through a lot together.”

She snorts a laugh that quickly turns into a groan when Cassandra calls out that more demons have landed ahead, and a coolness Remi recognizes as a barrier glides over her skin and sinks into her very bones. Cassandra chargers the demon that seems to be wearing armor, so Remi goes after the other one. It’s coming directly for Solas, undeterred by the spells he fires off at it. She brings her hammer up in an underhanded swing, sending the demon careening down the hill and back on to the ice. She turns her head to offer him a nod, only to hiss when one of the green wisps – wraiths, Solas calls them – shoots her directly in the shoulder. While it doesn’t really hurt, it makes holding her hammer up far harder than it should be.

Solas and Varric work to finish off the wraiths across the small river, and Remi abandons her dissolving foe to assist Cassandra. She brings her hammer down on its head, frowning when it seems to simply reform. Cassandra slices through it and knocks it over, giving Remi the opening she needs to slam it down on the demon’s chest, then its face. She gives a content sigh when it finally begins to dissolve as well, flexing her marked and ungloved hand when she’s certain all of the demons are taken care of.

They’re checking the house that’d been to their right for survivors when Varric half-accuses her of being from Rivain. She gives him a smirk, because while he may be right, he is also wrong. “I’m actually from Ostwick, but I’ve spent a good few years in Rivain.”

Varric huffs, picking up the coin purse he’d found and passing it to her. “I should’ve known. You Free Marcher humans are all built like ox.”

“But not Qunari.”

“Oh, definitely not. You’d need at least another foot in height to be one of those. Not to mention your skin… and your suspicious lack of horns.” She can’t retort again, instead favoring a hiss when the Breach expands, along with the mark on her palm. Varric’s hand on her elbow is appreciated, although she’d really prefer this would stop happening in general.

“I know it’s difficult, but we must keep moving.” Cassandra urges, giving Remi another pat on the shoulder, similar to the last time she’d fallen. Remi pushes out the breath she’d been holding and steps away from both Varric and Cassandra, heading towards the door with purposeful steps. She gestures for Cassandra to take the lead, and waits for Varric to join her before following them.

“So… _are_ you innocent?” Varric presses.

Remi doesn’t _know_ if she’s innocent, and it’s eating her alive.

While she doesn’t think she has any motivation for doing something like this, she’s also missing her memories from most of the Conclave’s proceedings. All she has are feelings – of despondence and fear – and those feelings alone could be cause for what was done at the Conclave. What those feelings don’t explain is the mark on her hand, nor the tiny whispers it bleeds into her head.

Varric nudges her thigh lightly, and she realizes she’s taken too long to answer. “I don’t remember what happened,” she finally provides. It’s a little forced, enough to have Cassandra glancing over her shoulder at them.

The archer takes it in stride, brushing it off and intentionally redirecting Cassandra’s accusatory attention to himself. “That’ll get you every time. Should have spun a story.”

“That’s what _you_ would have done.” Cassandra bites back, and Remi sighs softly in relief. She bumps Varric with her hip as an expression of faith, fighting a grin when he exaggerates nearly falling over.

“It’s more believable, and less prone to result in premature execution.” Varric argues, and Remi shrugs.

“Death would be preferable to how positively _freezing_ I am right now.”

Ahead of them, Cassandra spots four demons, and there’s no time for any in the party to come up with a clever retort. They draw their weapons and fall into battle. Cassandra charges in at the most heavily armored demon, and Remi fights a smile. It appears she was still as headstrong as ever. Remi knocks the other snake like demon – a shade, Solas calls it – away from the long range fighters, rolling out of the way when one of the wraiths shoots at her. Solas and Varric make short work of the wraiths, and Remi dispatches her shade in enough time to knock the armored one away from Cassandra. The Seeker drives her sword between its armored plates and through its chest, panting gently as it dissolves around her blade.

“I hope Leliana made it through all this.” Cassandra worries, cleaning her blade of ichor in the snow before sheathing it. Remi sets her hammer back in its makeshift sling, and begins gathering the bits and pieces of their foes that hadn’t dissolved. She stands from her crouch and meets Solas’ questioning stare with a smile, slipping the demon parts into another one of her pockets.

Varric offers Cassandra a small reassurance, but Solas brushes it off with cold logic. “We will see for ourselves at the forward camp. We are almost there.”

The four of them continue up the stairs in a tense silence, only broken when Remi’s palm sputters with green energy. The whispers in her head intensify, and she’s breaking into a run without even realizing it. _Hungry..._ the mark hisses in the back of her skull, and Cassandra calls out behind her to notify the others of the rift they’ve come upon. “We must seal it! Quickly!” Solas exclaims, and Remi scoffs – because no shit – but her attention is drawn once more to the rift when it spouts demons in front of her.

She charges them without care, ignoring the wraith that shoots her in the side, and slams into a shade that’d been closing in on one of the archers defending the gate. The other shade drags its claws down her arm, and she whirls on it with no small amount of annoyance. Cassandra joins her, knocking one shade to the ground and stabbing directly through it while Remi beats the other with her hammer.

The mark almost moves on its own, reaching out to grab the hazy air around the rift, pulling it into her palm. All noise is drowned from her ears as the mark consumes the rift, knitting the tear in the Veil back together. When it closes it repels her hand backwards, almost like magnets, and Remi sucks in a deep breath. The whispering in her head dies down as Cassandra shouts for the gate to be opened.

“We are clear for the moment.” Solas says. “Well done.” Remi is still trying to catch her breath, thoughts racing as she recovers from whatever the mark had led her in doing. She hadn’t known how to close the rift, yet the mark had. It’d guided her, nearly dragged her, through the process of connecting with and ultimately closing the rift. “You are hurt.” Solas says from beside her, drawing her attention to the claw marks down the back of her arm. They’re bleeding a small amount, and biting cold makes itself known then, cooling the raised skin around her wound.

“Apparently I am.” Remi agrees, stepping away from Solas and following Cassandra on to the bridge. There’s really know time to worry about her. The elven man follows closely at her heels, and Varric is quick to catch up with them. They all approach Cassandra as she greets Leliana and a man is Chantry garb. He seems far from pleased to see her, and Remi returns the sentiment. Men in Chanty clothes have never been good to her before.

She’s right in her belief that he was unhappy to see her, as more accusations are slung around like fishing lines. Remi rubs the bridge of her nose and then her eyes in irritation. The Chancellor throws his hands about him like a child, words insensitive and biting. “Justinia is dead! We must elect a replacement, and get _her_ orders on the matter!”

Remi groans aloud, drawing all attention to herself. “So none of you are actually in charge here.” It’s a statement, not a question, and the Chancellor takes great offense.

“You killed everyone who was in charge!”

Remi’s eyes narrow, and she sneers at him. “Did I now?”

Cassandra steps between Remi the table, drawing the Chancellor’s attention. “Call a retreat, Seeker. Our position here is hopeless.” Now out of his direct ire, Remi can hear the remorse in his voice, the hidden hopelessness, and she frowns.

“We can stop this before it is too late.” Her frown deepens, because Cassandra sounds so sure of herself. Remi misses knowing what she was doing.

“How? You won’t survive long enough to reach the temple, even with all your soldiers.”

She wonders the same thing, watches as they debate which path to use. The mark sputters in her palm as the Breach expands again, sending currents of pain twisting up her arm, and she has to hold her wrist with her other hand until it passes. All eyes are on her now. “How do _you_ think we should proceed?” It’s a simple question Cassandra has asked her, and it has a simple answer. She won’t live long enough to see any kind of trial, so why wait to try and close the Breach.

It also doesn’t hurt that Cassandra’s gaze is almost pleading.

“I say we charge. I’d rather do something helpful before I die, if that’s all right with you all.”

Remi heads down the bridge and towards the valley, Solas and Varric close on her heels. “You okay over there?” Varric asks her, and she shrugs. “Just haven’t known someone to be so accepting of their death. Most people try and fight it.”

“Varric,” she begins, watching the Breach slowly grow bigger above them, “there is a hole in my hand to match the sky. If I live, I’ll be put on trial by the Chantry and found guilty of something I probably didn’t do, never to see the people I love again. I’d much rather die fighting than hang because a religion demands it be so.”

Cassandra joins them then, and they jog in tense silence towards the valley. Varric no longer presses her, instead choosing to keep his distance, but Solas sticks near her side. He remains blissfully silent as well.

Finally, they reach the camp outside of the temple, and Remi’s heart drops. The entrance she’d marveled at is cracked and breaking, large spikes that pulse a vibrant green like the mark protruding from it. A soldier that’d been charging in to help is killed by a stray blast from the Breach, their body thrown backwards down the stairs.

Remi steels herself and draws her hammer, charging ahead of Cassandra and jumping into the fray. She doesn’t save the next soldier she sees, heart dropping even further and he falls dead against the ground. She crushes the shade beneath her hammer, heading towards the rift when she is done. At the sight of it, Varric exclaims in disbelief. “How many rifts _are there_?!”

“We must seal it if we are to get passed!” Solas calls back.

The death of the first wave of demons brings some Remi has never seen, too tall with gangly limbs and small heads. The uncertainty does not make her hesitate, and she crushes one of their legs with her hammer. Cassandra and the man who’d been fighting the rift before they arrived tend to the other lanky demon. Solas freezes the one Remi has been attacking, and she shatters it with one heavy swing.

The mark tugs at her mind and she turns toward the rift, reaching out and grabbing the distortions that dance around it on her own. She closes it with very little struggle, and the mark’s whispering quiets in her head.

“Sealed as before. You are becoming quite proficient at this.” She smiles at Solas’ praise, thanking him softly when he places a hand upon her upper arm and attempts to heal her wound from the earlier fight.

“Let’s hope it works on the big one.” Varric offers, coming to join the two of them and patting the side of her thigh affectionately. Remi shakes out her newly healed arm and watches Solas take a few steps back from their small group.

They all turn at the sound of a new voice. “Lady Cassandra,” it says, “you managed to close the rift. Well done.”

“Don’t congratulate me, Commander. This was the prisoner’s doing.” Remi scoffs to herself at being referred to as ‘the prisoner’ for the first time since they’d former this little group. Cassandra hadn’t felt the need to call her that in front of Solas or Varric, so why this man?

Logic rears its head to remind her that Cassandra had referred to this man as _Commander_. He is of high military standing, not a common apostate or out-of-town rogue. Of course she’d simply be ‘The Prisoner’.

“Is it?” the commander asks, though he lacks the malice she may have expected. “I hope they’re right about you. We’ve lost a lot of people getting you here.” While his voice still lacks any malice, his comment feels like a dig at her very soul. No one had died because of her in years.

“You’re not the only one hoping that.” Oh humor, be her saving grace.

Beside her, Solas laughs ever so softly. Varric’s hand comes back up to pat the side of her leg, offer support, and the Commander continues.

“We’ll see soon enough, won’t we.” He turns to address Cassandra then, leaving the rest of them to their own devices. Remi turns around to help an injured soldier up, offered the trembling woman an insecure smile.

“Are you going to close the Breach, too?” The soldier asks her, and Remi helps adjust her so she can walk. A few other soldiers have turned to listen.

“I’m going to give it all I have, yes.” Remi’s answer seems to satisfy the woman, and she heads back towards the camp with her fellow soldiers.

Remi turns quickly when Cassandra summons her, jogging over to the group just as the Commander parts. He turns to Remi with a grim set to his jaw. “Maker watch over you- for all our sakes.” Remi’s insides twist at the implied message, but she offers a confident smile to him. He helps a limping soldier as he leaves, and Remi finally turns away.

The group jogs into toward the crater that was once the temple, jumping over the ledge and landing with varying degrees of grace.

“That is where you walked out of the Fade and our soldiers found you.” Cassandra says, drawing Remi’s gaze from the burning corpses. Remi breaks eye contact with her and trudges down into what remains of the temple, steps overflowing with what she hopes the others will perceive as confidence. But when she rounds the corner and is faced with what the Breach looks like up close, her heart hits the soles of her feet.

The actual hole in the sky is thousands of feet up, but the physical portion is nearer to the ground. It shifts and cracks, spitting violent green energy in all directions. The mark fizzles in her palm, its reach spreading further into the veins on her wrist. The whispers have gone dormant in her head, overpowered by the echoing screams that seem to push themselves through the Breach and into the air around them.

Varric seems to echo her thoughts, walking toward the railing with Solas and Cassandra to gaze up into the Breach. Leliana’s voice comes from behind her, and Remi turns to meet familiar eyes. “You’re here.” The redhead calls. “Thank the Maker.”

Cassandra turns as well, her warrior face set in place, authority in her tone. “Leliana, have your men take up positions around the temple.” She then steps in front of Remi, voice losing some of its previous authority when she stares up into Remi’s eyes. “This is your chance to end this. Are you ready?”

Remi swallows her nerves before she answers. Before she’d gotten to see the Breach directly in front of her, it’d been easy to put forth the thought that she would die. Now death is staring at her overtop the head of an old lover, and it’s much harder to stomach. “I am. It was lovely seeing you again, Cass.”

The Seeker pauses, her face falls ever so slightly, but then she gives a small smirk. “I had not thought you’d be taller than me, when I pictured our meeting again.”

“Aw! You thought about me? I’m flattered.” Cassandra scoffs, but the mirth does not leave her eyes.

“Let’s find a way down. And be careful.” Remi follows Cassandra with her eyes for a moment before following her in truth. Solas and Varric take up the rear, both being nice enough not to comment on the exchange that was just had. Remi glances over her shoulders to give them both a smile and a little wave.

They’re winding their way around overturned stones and green spikes when a voice echoes around them. Remi jumps, squeaking once more, and everyone present looks left and right for who is speaking.

“Now is the hour of our victory. Bring forth the sacrifice.”

The voice screams of some kind of cult. Only cults require sacrifices, and Remi wishes for what may be the seventh time since she’d woken up that she hadn’t agreed to come here. News would have spread just fine, and she’d still be on her big happy fishing boat with her big happy crew on her way back to big happy Herah. Rivain’s market place didn’t have cults.

“What are we hearing?” Cassandra asks the open air, beginning to lead them all once more.

“At a guess,” Solas says, “the person who created the Breach.”

This statement fills Remi with both relief and dread. If the person who’d created the Breach had a male voice, then she couldn’t be responsible for any of this. But if she isn’t responsible, the person who is could very well still be at large. The voice remains silent as they continue to pick their way down towards the Breach.

Remi gives the red lyrium a wide berth. She’d been told about it before, and for that she was grateful. “You know this stuff is red lyrium, Seeker.” Varric says, keeping his voice down as though her fears to disturb it.

“I see it, Varric.”

“But what’s it doing here?” his voice is almost pleading when he asks, and Remi can’t help but feel bad. She’d heard the stories of Kirkwall, read the book, even gotten a couple firsthand accounts. She knew what the red lyruim had taken from him.

Solas offers an explanation, but it does little to placate Varric. The dwarf remains on edge, sticking close to Remi’s side as she dances her way around and away from it. As the four of them approach the stairs, Leliana staying a bit behind to cover their backs, the disembodied voice speaks again.

“Keep the sacrifice still.”

They all pause again, though it doesn’t startle them as badly as it had the first time. When the mark sputters within her palm once more, Remi gives up all pretenses of caution and jumps into the crater. Her companions hurry to catch up, each crowding the smallest bit closer to her when they come to stand at their full height before the Breach. Remi barely gets another breath in before another disembodied voice, this one female and panicked, calls from the air around them.

“Someone help me!”

The next voice’s accent is distorted ever so slightly within the echo, but it is impossible to mistake.

It is Remi’s own, spouting angered vulgarities.

“That was your voice.” Cassandra helpfully supplies. “Most Holy called out to you, but…” She trails off when the hazy magic around the rift shifts into what looks like a dream. Divine Justinia is held by magic of some kind, and a figure of shadows stands over her. Remi’s head pounds as she relives what must have caused this entire predicament, and the mark hisses within her skull yet again.

“You _were_ there!” The tone Cassandra uses is boiling over with accusation, and Remi can feel herself growing angry. “Who attacked? And the Divine…is she...? Was this vision true? What are we seeing?!”

Remi looks down her nose at Cassandra’s snarl, retorting with no shortage of frustration that she _can’t remember_. The Breach’s rift sputters again, drawing their attention away from a potential argument.

“Echoes of what happened here. The Fade bleeds into this place.” Cassandra jogs to meet Solas, and Varric gives Remi yet another pat on the thigh. She breathes out heavily through her nose, and the two move to join them. “This rift is not sealed, but it is closed…albeit temporarily. I believe that with the mark, the rift can be opened, and then sealed properly and safely. However, opening the rift will likely attract attention from the other side.”

Dying in the process doesn’t scream safety to Remi, but she’ll take what she can get.

“That means demons.” Cassandra calls to the soldiers around the crater. “Stand ready!”

Every step, every breath, echoes around them as every person present descends into silence. Remi’s earlier panic rises in her once more. Death is standing behind this door the sits locked above her head, and she is about to willingly use her key to let it in. She looks to Cassandra for reassurance, seeking comfort from the only person here she really feels like she knows, but finds none.

Cassandra nods, draws her weapons, and it is time.

Remi reaches hesitantly toward the rift, gasping gently when the mark makes contact with the tendrils of magic that hang heavy in the air. She unties the meager thread that hold the rift closed, jerking backwards when it breaks open almost on its own.

The demon that forces its way out of the rift is bigger than any she’d ever seen, but she knows what this one is. Her years of Templar training had only taught her how to identify the more powerful demons. This one, that laughed as though it owned the place, was a demon of pride. Cassandra charges at it with brute force and a war cry, joined by the other soldiers wielding swords. The archers scattered around the crater loose arrow after arrow, trying desperately to pierce its armor. It is only Remi and Solas who pay enough attention to see the glimmer of it barrier.

“Remi, the rift! It will weaken it, that is where it draws its power!” Solas calls, throwing spells of ice to try and slow the demon’s progression towards any of the soldiers.

“Right! Of course.” She makes sure the demon is distracted before reaching toward the rift again, holding her ground as she knits it back together. The pulse of magic that comes off the rift when she fails to close it sends the demon to its knees. Remi draws her hammer and sprints over, swinging upwards into its jaw when she arrives. The demon cries out and staggers to its feet, lightning dancing across its skin.

She grabs one of the soldiers and rolls out of the way of its whip, helping the man she’d knocked over to his feet. She claps his back and goes to dive back into the fray, but Cassandra’s shout stops her. “More coming through the rift!” Remi turns and sure enough there are two shades coming straight for her.

“I’ve got your back.” The man to her right says, brandishing his sword as the demons come near them. They fight side by side, Remi knocking them down or away while the man she fights beside slices off limbs and through throats.

They make short work of the demons, and Remi once more sets about trying to close the rift. “Name’s Remi,” she offers, “thanks for helping me out.”

“Arthur.” The man returns. “And I owed you a favor.”

The rift throws her backwards when she fails to close it yet again, and Arthur supports her from behind so she won’t fall over. The pride demon falls to its knees yet again, and the two take off in its direction. Two more shades push their way out of the rift, and Remi breaks away to fight them once more. She brings her hammer straight down on one and it dissolves, and Arthur comes barreling into the other from her left side.

“What, couldn’t get enough of me?” Remi asks, dodging a swing the shade aimed at her and kicking it in return.

Arthur drives his sword through its head, lip curling it disgust when it dissolves around his sword. “You’re irresistible, Remi.”

“That’s such a nice thing to hear before I die.”

Arthur pulls her out of the way of the pride demons blast, tugging her around the large pillar and to the other side. “You’re not going to die out here.”

Remi smiles and thrusts her hand back up into the rift’s magic tendrils, grabbing tightly and pulling. “I’d love to believe you, man, but this doesn’t exactly spell safety for me.” The rift pushes her out yet again, and the sweat that’d been gathering on her brow drips down the side of her face. The scratch along her eyebrow that one of the shades had inflicted burns when the salt hits it.

Across from them, the pride demon once more sinks to its knees, and they charge back into the fight.

Remi is only vaguely aware of the people around her, far too focused on bringing the demon down to care. It smacks her backwards and away from it as she attempts to once more swing up at its jaw, and her back hits the stone wall not far behind her. The breath leaves her forcefully, but Varric is there once more to help her back to her feet as Cassandra deals the killing blow. Her sword goes in through the demon’s neck and out the back of its head, rendering it immobile.

When she withdraws her sword, the demon slumps to the ground and begins to dissolve. Cassandra turns wildly until she finds Remi’s eyes, and upon finding them, relief and urgency light up her features. “Now!” she calls, “Seal the rift!” Remi freezes before she can grab at the rift, fearful eyes turning back to Cassandra. “Do it!” The Seeker shouts, and Remi does.

Almost immediately, she can feel how strong this rift truly is. The mark cannot handle it, whispers turning to screams at the base of her skull. The rift attempts to pull her inward as she knits it back together, draining the very life from her body. Lightning sparks through her veins and into her heart as stars dance across her vision. Very faintly can she hear Varric, his hands gripping the arm that hangs limp at her side. She pushes through the stars, fights to keep her grip on the rift, and finally it seals back together.

The backlash of power that rockets into her body goes straight to her head, and she wonders to no one at all what she did to deserve a death like this. And once more, she’s unconscious before her head hits the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so fun game it took me 6 million years to write this chapter (that nobody actually likes bc it's the prologue of the game and we've all seen or read the prologue enough to know it by heart so why am i out here posting it lol) but like i wrote the chapter after saying i probably wouldn't so woo go me i think  
> i know we've all played the prologue 17000 times, and i know no one likes reading it, but my only dragon age friend said i should write this chapter so i did. i was going to start the actual fic when our lovely quizzy wakes up in that little hut and scares the yeet out of our baby elf child but oh well  
> anyway i hope this doesn't suck as much ass as i think it does and that you enjoy remi being a disaster gay. im gonna go play the anthem demo byeee


	3. Old Feelings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m mulling my panic and rage into a fine wine inside of me that I will release at the appropriate time.”

Remi knows the past few days aren’t a dream when she wakes up in a cold room instead of almost stifling. There is no gentle sway of the wind, no sound of the gulls, no smell of salt and metal.

Most importantly, there is no Herah.

The loud breathing she’d grown accustomed to is noticeably absent. There are no heavy footsteps in the main room, no crackle of magic; everything that means home is missing, and it is blatantly obvious. After fifteen years of living with someone, their absence is as striking as it is frightening.

Remi jerks upwards, eyes wide, breathing panicked. She startles a small scream out of the elven girl who had been tiptoeing around, as well as the box in her hands. “I didn’t know you were awake, I swear!” she cries, hands held in front of her as though to placate.

“Why are you frightened? What happened?” Remi asks, keeping her shoulders hunched to appear smaller. She’s acutely aware of how big she is, and she knows smaller people – especially elves – are easily frightened by it.

Hands now clasped nervously in front of her, the elven girl shifts from foot to foot. “That’s wrong, isn’t it?” she asks, cheeks rapidly growing red. “I said the wrong thing.”

Remi’s brow furrows, and she slowly attempts to stand. “I don’t… think so.” Her shoulders jerk up to meet her ears when the girl falls to her knees, forehead pressed against the floor.

“I beg your forgiveness and your blessing. I am but a humble servant.”

“Woah, woah! Hey, please don’t do that.” Remi, unsure if her legs will cooperate, slinks off the bed and onto her knees in front of the elven girl. She takes her gently by the shoulders and sits her up, bending lower to meet her eyes. “I’m nothing special, I promise. Please don’t do that again. Can you tell me what your name is, and where I am?”

Eyes wide and cheeks still flushed red, she struggles to find an answer. “The cooks call me Nettie; and you are back in Haven, My Lady. They say you saved us. The Breach stopped growing, just like the mark on your hand.” As though it knows it’s being spoken of, the mark crackles to life in her hand. Remi pulls it from Nettie’s shoulder, holding it closer to her chest. “It’s all anyone has talked about for the last three days.”

“So a trial happens now, I suppose.” The threat of the Breach gone, it is easy to see what will happen next. Remi knows she does not stand a chance against the Chantry, not after word of her desertion gets out. While the Templars may have left the Chantry as a whole now, it was still considered a crime when she had done it.

“I don’t know anything about that.” Nettie soothes, though her shoulders are still hunched and her face drawn as she attempts to help Remi to her feet. Remi’s seen this behavior before, in fact she’s doing the same thing, though she suspects for different reasons. Nettie’s eyes dart to a from the door before her face almost lights up. “I’m sure Lady Cassandra will want to know you’ve wakened. She said ‘at once’!”

A familiar face would be a breath of fresh air in the chaos of her head, even if this familiar face _is_ Cassandra. “And where is she?”

Nettie has already begun to back away, hand reaching behind her for the handle. “In the Chantry with the Lord Chancellor. ‘At once,’ she said!” and with that final exclamation Nettie is gone, the door banging shut behind her.

Her ass hits the bed rather harshly and her head meets her calloused palms as Remi sucks in a shaky breath. Tears blur the edges of her vision as she tries to compartmentalize everything that’s happened in the last two weeks. She’s father south that she’s ever been before, completely out of contact with her family, with her friends. While not particularly fun to think about, she knows it isn’t the end of the world.

Not like that Breach in the sky would have been. Could still be, if Nettie’s words of her simply stopping the Breach from growing hold any kind of truth. Remi hopes they don’t, but servants who are that frightened, who will press their heads to the floor and beg forgiveness, usually don’t lie.

No one has _ever_ knelt before her like that. Not when she was living as a noble Trevelyan, and most certainly not when she worked as a fisherman.

With a decent amount of effort, Remi pushes herself onto wobbly feet. She half-hobbles over to the desk across from the bed, leaning heavily on it and shaking out her legs one by one. There are patient observations on the desk from each of the days she’d been asleep, and reading them does not put her mind at ease. She glances to the side after reading, and on a chest beside the desk lay her borrowed clothes, which she has never been so grateful to see.

She unbuttons the too-tight shirt with fumbling fingers and discards it quickly, sighing in relief when the old green coat rests snug on her shoulders. The boots and weirdly tight pants come off next, replaced with the baggier black pants and heavy boots that go with her mercenary coat. All that’s missing are the gloves, but she’d already lost one. Losing the other seemed inevitable. She twists the ring on her left thumb and makes her way to leave.

If not for the sight of Arthur’s face when she finally got around to opening the door, Remi would have slammed it shut. The man stands to the side, fist across his chest in a sign of respect, yet his eyes sing with mirth. “I am to take you to the Chantry, My Lady.” He says, taking another step back to give her a clear view of the dozens of people who watch her with wide eyes.

She pushes all of her panic into a tight ball within her stomach and squares her shoulders, falling into step beside Arthur. They pass between the soldiers who have cleared a path, stuck within the confines of the peoples’ reverent whispering.

“That’s her. That’s the Herald of Andraste.”

“Why did Lady Cassandra have her in chains? I thought Seekers knew everything.”

“Blessings upon you, Herald of Andraste.”

Arthur leads her up a set of stairs that is blessedly free of people. Remi’s head snaps in his direction when he snickers, eyes wide and teeth grinding. “What the fuck??” she hisses, fist briefly clenching around his arm before more people come into view. She quickly wipes the panic from her face, replacing it with the false confidence she’d use when bargaining at the market.

Once more they pass through an area without people, and the looming Chantry building is in sight. “Seeker Cassandra will be able to explain it to you, I promise.”

“Arthur!” Remi whispers one more time, frantic when he leaves her at the entrance of the Chantry with a nod and a salute. She turns away from him to face the Chantry folk who have gathered around the doors, some bowing their heads in respect, others whispering in concern. She prefers the whispering to the respect, if she’s being honest with herself.

The large doors shut behind her when she enters, and the even larger room is plunged into candlelit darkness. Voices echo from behind the door at the end of the hallway, and it is tragically easy to pick out Cassandra amidst the heated argument. Remi stands a few feet away from the door to better eavesdrop, aware that if sound can be heard from within the room, its occupants would hear any significant noise she made from outside it.

“I do not believe she is guilty.” Remi’s eyebrows rise in shock before they furrow in disbelief. The Cassandra she knew was not one to change her opinions so quickly. At least, that’s what she’d have thought if she didn’t know her better.

Cassandra and the Chancellor argue back and forth for what feels like years before Remi finally has enough. She pushes the door open, steeling herself when all eyes in the room turn to her. A quick glance around herself reveals the Templars on either side of the door, and she draws her elbows closer to herself.

“Chain her!” Roderick exclaims. “I want her prepared for travel to the capital for trial.”

Remi’s anger flares upward, and her shoulders tense as she prepares to fight her way out of here. She would rather die fighting than be put on trial by the Chantry.

“Disregard that, and leave us.” It’s Cassandra this time, and the Templars listen. They salute her and exit the room, door thudding behind them when they’ve left. Remi turns back to face the three who stand around the table, disbelieving eyes finding Leliana’s. The redhead scrutinizes her from beneath the hood, expression calculated.

“You walk a dangerous line, Seeker.”

“The Breach is stable, but it is still a threat.” Cassandra retorts. “I will not ignore it.” The comment feels as though it is directed to her, and Remi bristles once more.

“So I’m still a suspect, even after everything we just did?”

Roderick and Cassandra turn on each other, and Remi’s heartrate picks up when Cassandra defends her wholeheartedly. It’s a knee jerk reaction, one she berates herself for. Finally, Leliana steps toward the table, drawing attention to herself for the first time since Remi had entered the Chantry.

“Someone was behind the explosion at the Conclave. Someone Most Holy did not expect. Perhaps they died with the others – or have allies who yet live.”

The Chancellor looked downright affronted at the notion, brow furrowing even further. Remi bites back a smile at the sight. “ _I_ am a suspect?”

“You, and many others.”

“But _not_ the prisoner?” Remi can almost agree with him, because it is far easier to blame her than a Chantry official. Once more Cassandra comes to her defense, but she brings the Divine with her. Remi’s mood sours almost immediately. “So her survival,” Roderick begins, completely flabbergasted, “that _thing_ on her hand – all a coincidence?”

“Providence. The Maker sent her to us in our darkest hour.”

Remi scoffs, and all eyes turn to her. She burns with old sorrow and new rage, arms crossed in front of her in a moment of insecurity. “You can’t honestly believe I am any kind of ‘Chosen One’.” Cassandra moves as though to respond, but Remi is quick to cut her off. “Or have you forgotten? _‘The Chantry forbids it.’_ That’s what you said.”

Cassandra hesitates before responding, eyes growing momentarily sad. “No matter what you are, or what you believe, you are exactly what we needed when we needed it.” Remi scoffs a bitter laugh, turning to look at Leliana. Once more she watches Remi with careful, all-seeing eyes.

“The Breach remains, and your mark is our only hope of closing it.” Remi follows Cassandra from the corner of her eye as Leliana speaks, watching as she moves around the table to reach for something. Whatever protest Roderick had dies on his tongue when Cassandra slams the large book down, expression stern.

“You know what this is, Chancellor?” It’s a rhetorical question. The symbol on the cover of the book speaks for itself. “A writ from the Divine, granting us the authority to act. As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn.” Cassandra moves on Roderick then, backing him into the wall like the predator she is. If Remi were not so blinded by fury, she’d have found it attractive. “We will close the Breach, we will find those responsible, and we will restore order. With or without your approval.”

At a loss for words, Roderick leaves in a huff.

Cassandra rubs the back of her head in exasperation as Leliana begins to explain the large book to Remi. She doesn’t really need an explanation, but it’s a welcomed distraction from all of the old emotion swelling inside of her chest. “This is the Divine’s directive: rebuild the Inquisition of old. Find those who will stand against the chaos. We aren’t ready. We have no leader, no numbers, and no Chantry support.”

“But we have no choice: We must act now.” Then Cassandra turn to face Remi directly, face almost pleading. “With you at our side.”

“You’re trying to start a holy war.” Remi accuses, arms crossed once more over her chest. She stares Cassandra down, daring her to confirm.

Cassandra chooses her next words carefully, but not carefully enough. “We are already at war. You are already involved. Its mark is upon you. As to whether the war is holy… that depends on what we discover.”

“Nope. I’m going home. I’ve had enough fighting, and you’d be insane to think I’d actually stay here.”

Remi steps back as though to leave, but Cassandra grabs her forearm. She removes her hand quickly when Remi stops moving. “Rosemarie, think logically. There are rifts in the valley around us. Innocent people die each day. There is no telling how far they have spread, and you are the only one who can close them.”

Of course Cassandra would appeal to her like this. Of the few things that hadn’t changed since their childhood, Remi’s bleeding heart was one of them. “It appears I have no choice then. I’ll help. Just point me in a direction and I’ll try to fix the problem.”

“That is all we can ask.” Leliana says. She seems pleased with the outcome, keen eyes watching as Remi and Cassandra dance on eggshells around each other.

Cassandra extends her hand toward Remi, completely unnecessary after Remi has just given her word. Trevelyans don’t go back on their word. “Help us fix this before it is too late.” Remi uncrosses her arms with a huff and shakes Cassandra’s hand, grasp firm even without her gloves.

“We will reconvene tomorrow to discuss what you will do first.” Leliana says once the handshake is over. “For the time being, the soldier who brought you here will escort you to the blacksmith’s to be fitted for new armor. He’ll escort you everywhere you need to go, in case anyone decides they would like to come after you.”

Remi sighs softly, scrubbing her jawline with her knuckles. “When do you want me to tend to the rifts in the valley? The sooner I close them, the less people die.”

“We have the area quarantined,” Cassandra begins, “so you should be able to close them after our meeting tomorrow.”

“I’d really rather close them now. There is still daylight left. I’ll take Arthur with me, maybe a few other soldiers in case of demons, and get them closed by sundown.”

“If that is what you wish to do, please see Harritt, our blacksmith, for your new armor first. We cannot have you dying just yet.” Leliana smirks when she finishes, eyes shining.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

-

The armor Harritt had made works splendidly, even if he claims it is hastily thrown together. Fighting in armor – even fighting at all – felt so strange after all these years of domestic life. The most action Remi had seen since her days as a Templar was breaking up the occasional fight in Satchel's Inn. Now she’s an agent in a war. The jingle of her chainmail is out of place amongst the teasing she and Arthur were doing, the rest of the soldiers silent on their trek back to Haven.

They finally reach the gates and the other soldiers head their separate ways, though Arthur stays by her side. He once more adopts the posture of a soldier. “Where would you like to go, My Lady?” he asks, humor lingering when he addresses her as a superior.

“I don’t really know where anything is. What do you suggest?”

“Would you like to have dinner with my wife and I?”

Remi’s face lights up, and she claps a hand to his shoulder. “A married man? Why didn’t you tell me? Yes, I’d absolutely love to.”

Arthur’s smile returns, but it takes on a soft look as he begins to lead her in the direction of one of the smaller houses. “She’s just had a baby, so she may be a little moody. But my Anne’s a doll, I promise.”

“Wait. Your name is Arthur.”

“It is.”

“And her name is Anne.”

“Correct.”

A smile spreads on his face when he catches on to what she’s implying, and disbelief takes over Remi's features. “Arthur, please tell me you last name doesn’t start with A.”

“It’s Abbott, actually. Our son’s name is Aidan.”

Her laugh is loud, and his grin is cheeky as they finally reach his humble home. He pushes open the door and pulls his helmet off, making Remi snicker when his hair sticks up in every direction. “My love!” he calls, beginning to peel off his armor and set it in the small chest near the door. There is shuffling from behind the half wall. “I’ve brought someone for dinner. I hope you don’t mind.”

Anne comes around the corner, tired features posed to scold, but she stops dead when her eyes catch sight of Remi. “Herald of Andraste!” she breathes, falling to her knees and bowing her head. Remi’s mind jumps to Nettie, and she’s quick to respond.

“Wait! Please- please don’t do that. You may think whatever you wish of me, but please treat me like a person.”

Anne gets back to her feet with Arthur’s help, pale cheeks glowing red. “Yes, of course. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Remi says, “I understand where you’re coming from, but I’d really just like a friend or two.”

Arthur and Remi joke with each other quietly as they set the small table, Anne feeding the baby behind the little wall. She’d occasionally comment as well, mainly when she caught Remi doing any form of helping. “I will not have my guest doing any work, especially when my _perfectly capable_ husband is standing right there.”

Arthur grumbles to himself and takes the bowl Remi had been holding, setting it on the table as they all take their seats. Remi pries the two of them for any news they have about the south. The dinner, a simple stew of some kind, fills Remi’s shrunken stomach. “I’m sorry it’s not much,” Anne says, cheeks growing red once more. “We have to share our rations with the refugees coming in.”

“Truly, this meal has been one of the best I’ve ever eaten. It feels like it’s been ages since I last ate.”

“It’s been five days, actually.” Arthur pipes in, gathering all of the dishes to be cleaned in the small water pail near the door. “They couldn’t get you to eat anything while you were unconscious.” The baby begins to cry, and Anne disappears to soothe him.

“’They’?”

“That mage you were with, Solas, and our apothecary Adan. That elf sure is a strange one.”

Remi leans back against the wall, aware that Anne is probably watching her every move to be sure she doesn’t try to help. “You’ve got that right. Nice man, but definitely weird.”

“Oh!” Anne emerges from behind the wall, carrying a small bundle of blankets. A tiny fist pushes its way out, and Anne smiles. “Would you like to hold him before you go?” she asks Remi, eyes hopeful.

Remi gasps, hands fluttering nervously around. “Can I? I mean, yes please. I’d love to.”

“Make sure you support his head.” Arthur calls, watching the two with a fond smile.

When Aidan is finally settled in her arms, Remi can’t help but reminisce. The babe’s tan cheeks, a mixture of his parents’ complexions, are nearly identical to Teodoro’s. The face of her friend is ever-present in her mind, expressive brown eyes glowing with mirth. Aidan’s eyes, when he opens them, are a forest green, but the small face still fills her heart with joy.

“My friend back in Rivain has a son. He’s five now, I believe. Aidan is the first baby I’ve held since he was a born.”

Anne smiles, cradling her child close to her chest when Remi hands him back. “I’m honored that my son was your first in so long.”

“I’d best go now,” Remi decides, standing from the chair she’d taken when holding Aidan. “The sun has almost set, and I have a letter I need to write. Do either of you know where I could find a bird to Ostwick?”

Arthur straps his sword to his hip and kisses Anne’s temple before opening the door for Remi. “I’m sure we could find one. Let’s go so I can get back here soon, it’s cold.”

“You don’t have to come, Arthur. I’m perfectly capable of wandering around.”

“I’m sure you are, but I’ve been assigned a duty and I’m gonna do it.”

They exit Arthur’s home in silence and begin looking around for anyone who might know where to find a bird. They’re coming around a corner and making small talk when they run into Cassandra. The Seeker seems surprised to see them, but she gathers herself quickly.

“Thank you, soldier, but you can head home now.”

“Of course, Lady Cassandra.” Arthur salutes and turns on his heel, heading back to his house. Remi and Cassandra stand awkwardly for a moment before Remi pushes it away.

“I’m looking for a bird to send a letter home. Do you know where I can find one?”

Cassandra seems to jump on the opportunity, offering an affirmative grunt and leading the way towards what Remi can only hope is some type of rookery. She also hopes Cassandra will refrain from trying to make conversation, but she knows it is inevitable.

“How are Delphina and Warren?” Remi is glad Cassandra chose to ask about her parents and something more personal.

“They’re okay. Dad is fascinated with being a grandfather, and Mom just wants to keep everyone happy.”

Cassandra’s eyes widen in surprise. “You are an aunt? Which of your brothers had a child?”

“Actually all of them have had at least one kid. Burgess has two, Marina and Illan. Emil had a boy before he got divorced: Damien. And Nathaniel has three kids; a set of twins and his oldest. Bernard is his eldest and the twins are Tarran and Tavia. They’re all spoiled rotten, but there isn’t a mean bone in any of their little bodies.”

Cassandra looks ahead in wonder, though her eyes seem lost. “Your family has certainly grown.” She says after a while, once they’ve reached the rookery and she has pointed out the bird which will be able to deliver Remi’s letter. “Does Remington have any children?”

Remi stiffens, shoulders bunch near her ears. Everyone who knew she’d had a twin knew what had happened. But Cassandra didn’t seem to. Her question was innocent, its intent not to harm, but Remi shuts down regardless.

“No.”

“Oh. He loved all of the village children. I had only assumed-“

Remi spins quickly to face her, arms crossed in front of herself once more. “Can we talk about something else now, Seeker?” Cassandra’s brows raise in confusion before they settle back to where they should be, and her jaw sets in determination.

“Yes, actually. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about what happened earlier.”

Remi’s heart drops out of dread.

“What you said about the Chantry. That- I mean-“ Cassandra makes a noise of frustration, rubbing the side of her head like she’d done in the back room. “You know I have never been good with words.”

Remi does not answer.

“I wanted to apologize to you, Rosemarie. For what I said all those summers ago.”

“And I don’t want to hear it.” Cassandra looks back up in surprise, head moving backwards when she sees the rage painted across Remi’s features. “I have lived all these years thinking about what you said to me, Cassandra. Every relationship I’ve ever had, I’ve doubted because of what you said. Every time I’ve held another woman, I’ve held my breath in fear she’d do what you did. So no, you don’t get to apologize. You have to keep living with it, knowing _exactly_ what your words have done to me. Just like I do. I don’t forgive you, and I won’t _ever_ forget it.”

Her breathing is heavy when she’s finished, all those things she’s left unsaid for too many years leaping forth and into the air between them. Cassandra can only watch her with wide, wet eyes. Even the birds around them have gone silent.

Finally, when the silence has grown too much for her, Remi grabs a few writing utensils and leaves. She weaves around Cassandra, who still stands frozen in the entry way, and makes short work of the walk back to the cabin. When she arrives she slams the door behind her, dumps the paper, ink, and quills on the desk, and collapses onto the bed she’d woken up on not too long ago.

She resumes the position she’d taken not long after she’d woken, elbows on knees and face in her hands. Tears of frustration sting her eyes once more, and this time a few make it through her resolve.

With a shaky breath Remi pulls herself back together, fighting against herself to put Cassandra from her mind. After years of holding those thoughts so close to her heart, getting them out is simultaneously a wave of relief and a storm of grief. She knows if she doesn’t distract herself soon, she will drown.

The makings of a letter sit innocently upon the desk across the room, calling her name with the invitation of distraction. It doesn’t take much to have her sitting in the chair and trying to figure out what to say.

The moon has long since risen by the time she’s done, and Remi barely manages to wriggle out of her armor before she collapses back onto the bed, this time lying down. She doesn’t dream, and for that she is thankful, but it makes waking come even faster. Her body, unused to sleeping alone, wakes her up an hour before dawn. She stays wrapped in the furs that line her bed for a moment before sitting up and taking in the room. It’s the same as she’d left it merely a few hours ago, armor still scattered around, though someone has brought her fruits and a formal change of clothes.

She really hopes it wasn’t Cassandra.

Cold feet meet an even colder floor and a shiver shoots up Remi’s spine. She is grateful for the ratty old mercenary coat – which she was adamant about washing and keeping – that shields her upper body from the cold. She pulls the pants that go with her armor on and grabs one of the apples that’s been left for her, and then once more takes a seat upon the bed.

While her stomach doesn’t make its hunger known, she knows she need to eat. Finding a balance between overeating and undereating won’t be difficult, but it will be tedious. Another apple disappears into her stomach before she stops, satisfied that her stomach won’t be hungry any time soon.

The mark is a completely different story, as it chooses this very moment to spark to life in her palm. Gone is the full feeling under her skin, instead replaced with an angry hunger that sends quiet whispers into her head. Remi is grateful she’d grown up with a twin who was a mage, as she’s far more familiar with what magic sounds like. Each mage’s magic has its own voice, and this once sounds vaguely familiar. It was unfortunate the whispers were too quiet to tell whose.

The walls that surround Haven are too high to let the rising sun in just yet, but Remi deems it a decent enough time to leave. She pulls her armor on and finally takes notice of the hammer she’d found those few days ago, and it’s with resignation that she acknowledges Cassandra is probably the one who brought the food to her. She straps it into the proper holster Harritt had made, content when the heavy head bumps against her ass.

She opens the door, prepared to face either Arthur or Cassandra, but she finds neither. The path from the cabin is empty of people, and Remi sighs in relief.

Time to explore.

She follows the beaten path around, giving nods to each soldier she passes and hoping none of them will attempts to stop her. She passes a tavern which smells vaguely of breakfast foods, and then climbs the stairs near it. Low and behold, there Solas stands. He seems equally surprised to see her, but offers her a smile nonetheless.

“The Chosen of Andraste: a blessed hero sent to save us all.”

Remi scoffs, a sarcastic smile spreading across her face. “Oh? Am I riding in on a shining steed?”

“I would have suggested a griffon, but sadly, they’re extinct. Joke as you will, posturing is necessary.” Solas pauses to walk dramatically towards the stairs, and Remi sighs softly to herself. It seems he’s a man of theatrics. “I’ve journeyed deep into the Fade in ancient ruins and battlefields to see the dreams of lost civilizations. I’ve watched as hosts of spirits clash to reenact the bloody past in ancient wars both famous forgotten. Every great war has its heroes. I’m just curious as to what kind you’ll be.”

The statement is one of curiosity, but it sends Remi’s mind reeling. Why did she have to be a hero? Why couldn’t she just be someone who was doing the right thing? Why couldn’t she just be what she was: a woman who wants to fix this mess as quickly as possible and go home?

She chooses to dodge the question. “What do you mean, ruins and battlefields?”

Solas seems pleased she asked, and dives quickly into talking about himself. “Any building strong enough to withstand the rigors of time has a history.”

He answers every question she has, seemingly unaware that she’s asking for the sole purpose of getting the attention off herself. Solas is not the first dreamer she’s met, but he does not need to know that. The sun has risen a decent amount before she’s picked his brain dry, and Solas looks pleased to have been able to educate her. Finally, their conversation settles on the topic at hand.

“It will be interesting to watch this fledgling Inquisition make its way.” Solas says, eyes darting around minutely. “I will stay to see it. For now.”

Remi’s eyebrow raises. “Was that in doubt?”

“I am an apostate surrounded by Chantry forces in the middle of a mage rebellion. Cassandra has been accommodating, but you understand my caution.”

Remi bristles in response, crossing her arms in front of her. This isn’t Rivain. The south hasn’t gotten passed its mage hating racism yet. “Anyone who comes for you will have to deal with me. I wonder how they’d feel if they knew their precious ‘Herald of Andraste’ liked elven mages more than she liked Andrastians.”

Solas’ eyebrows rise along with his ears. “You prefer mages?”

“Did you think I didn’t?” Remi asks, face pinched as though she’d eaten something rotten. “Solas, I literally hate the Chantry. My best friends are mages. Did you really think I didn’t like mages?”

“Cassandra had said you were Andrastian. I had only assumed-“

“Solas, honey, I’m going to tell you something that you can carry with you for however long it is we’re working together. Don’t believe anything about me unless it comes out of my mouth. If someone tells you something, fact check it with me, please. Especially if it’s Cassandra. She hasn’t seen me in 22 years. What she claims to know about me and what’s actually true are too very different things.”

Solas’ brows furrow in confusion, and he regards her in a new light. “You are not Andrastian.”

“I’m not.”

“Then am I correct in assuming you being a Templar is also false? I cannot sense any lyrium on you.”

Remi cringes, exhaling harshly and biting her lip before answering. “Actually, I _was_ a Templar. I’m not anymore – haven’t been for a while – but I was one.”

“Can I ask why you left the order?” Solas is intrigued now, standing up straighter, eyes growing a bit wider.

“You can, but that doesn’t mean I’ll give you an answer. Bad memories. Maybe I’ll tell you one day.” Remi spots a rather urgent looking soldier making their way in her direction, and her eyes widen in panic. “You know what? I suddenly have somewhere very important to be, and now I have to go. Bye!”

She scurries down the steps she’d climbed not too long ago and passes the tavern, making a B-line for her cabin, when she’s stopped by Varric calling her name. “Ah shit,” she hisses gently, turning with her merchant’s smile plastered across her face to cover her anxiety. “Varric! What can I do for you?”

Varric’s face is kind, a smile dancing across his features when Remi turns to acknowledge him. “Actually had a question for you. Now that Cassandra’s out of earshot, are you holding up all right? I mean, you go from being the most wanted criminal in Thedas to joining the armies of the faithful.” Then he hesitates, gazing up at her in concern. “Most people would have spread that out over more than one day.”

“I’m pretty okay, actually.” At Varric’s raised eyebrow, she elaborates. “I’m mulling my panic and rage into a fine wine inside of me that I will release at the appropriate time.”

“I can respect that.” Varric says, nodding while reaching out to pat her thigh. “For days now, we’ve been staring at the Breach, watching demons and Maker-knows-what fall out of it. ‘Bad for morale’ would be an understatement. I still can’t believe anyone was in there and lived.”

“I just want to get this Breach sealed and go home.”

“If it can be sealed.” Varric laments, taking on Remi’s usual pessimism. “You might want to consider running at the first opportunity. I’ve written enough tragedies to recognize where this is going. Heroes are everywhere. I’ve seen that. But the hole in the sky? That’s beyond heroes. We’re going to need a miracle.”

Remi blinks a few times, mind hung up on the continued use of the ‘hero’ word. Solas used it too. “Why does everyone keep calling me a hero? Why can’t I just be Remi? ‘Simple fisherwoman, trying to close the hole in the sky so she can go the fuck home’. How’s that?”

Varric chuckles and shakes his head. “That’s a horrible book title. But I’ll make it work.”

She smiles and goes to quip back at him, but Arthur appears behind Varric, gesturing towards another set of stairs. Remi gives Varric an apologetic smile and a small wave before scurrying after her soldier friend.

“You’re up early,” Arthur comments as they make their way towards the Chantry. “What’ve you been up to?”

“Oh, you know. Exploring and such. Are you taking me to that meeting?”

“Not yet. I’m going to introduce you to our quartermaster and apothecary. I was supposed to bring you to see them yesterday, but we got caught up with my wife and dinner.”

They make their way to the quartermaster, Threnn, who identifies Remi as a noble and directs her as such. Remi cringes once they’ve left, commenting on the bad taste it leaves in her mouth. Adan is a bitter little man with no filter, and she doesn’t bother fighting the grin that consumes her face as she and Arthur pass the front gates of Haven.

“Adan reminds me a lot of a friend I have back in Rivain. He calls himself Satchel, runs an inn. I love absolutely everything about him,” Remi pauses then, eyes widening and cheeks losing their color. “and he is going to be furious I haven’t written to tell him I’m okay. I’m fucked. Wow, he’s going to kill me.”

Arthur laughs, following Remi down an old path that’s overcrowded with trees. “Did you leave a lot of people in Rivain?”

“Kind of? You just heard about Satchel, but there is also Herah, my best friend in all of Thedas and a blacksmith. Then there’s Maeve and Faust. Maeve runs a bakery, and Faust is my second in command on my fishing boat. They’re married, and have the sweetest little boy. I also ran a little shop for the fish we’d catch at the market, so I’m sure my regulars miss me. There’s also the- well that isn’t ominous at all.”

Remi stops suddenly, and Arthur bumps into her back. In front of them is an old cabin, elfroot growing all around it. Arthur makes a move to step in front of Remi in case of danger, but she’s already disregarded him in favor of picking the plants. She sticks a leaf into her mouth and chews it while stuffing the rest of the plants into the bag she’d stolen from Adan.

“The elfroot here is different than the one in Rivain. Not as earthy.”

Arthur can only sigh at her comment, scanning the area around them while hovering over her, hand on his sword. “Do you want to go inside?” he asks her, though he’s fairly certain he knows what her answer will be.

“Of course I fucking do. I’m going to explore the shit out of everything while I’m still in the south.” Remi bounces up to her feet and only half-groans when Arthur steps in front of her once more, drawing his sword and pushing the door open. When he gives the all-clear, Remi shuffles inside.  They both wonder around, turning over books and old clothes. Remi approaches a desk and makes a small noise of satisfaction when she finds the notes Adan had mentioned. “This’ll show Cassie for disregarding medical needs.”

“Did you just call Lady Cassandra, ‘Cassie’?”

Remi pinches her lips together and avoids Arthur’s eyes, ducking out of the door as she tucks the notes into her bag. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No, no.” Arthur follows after her, jogging to catch up to her and walk by her side. “You called her Cassie. And when she relieved me of duty last night, that was weird.”

“What would your wife say if she knew you were prying into my personal life?”

“Fair point. But that doesn’t make me any less curious. There’s a good place for the logging stand, by the way.”

Remi hums in contemplation, pulling out the small map Threnn had given her and the stick of charcoal she’d found. She marks it on the map, and the two of them also outline the deposits of iron they’d found. “Cassandra and I were… close when we were younger. We had a falling out, and then went our separate ways. I never thought I’d see her again.” But she had, and the ring on her thumb burns as a reminder.

“Ah, I see.” Arthur murmurs, patting her on the shoulder in comfort. “We should probably get back now. The meeting will be starting soon, and Lady Cassandra will have my hide if you’re late.”

“Will you bring this stuff to Threnn and Adan for me? Getting in more trouble isn’t exactly what I want to do.”

Arthur’s professional mask is back on, but he gives her a reassuring smile nonetheless. “Of course, my Lady.” She hands him the bag when they reach the front of the Chantry, and he salutes her before taking his leave. Remi inhales sharply to calm her nerves, the comforting weight of the hammer still resting against her ass. The mark sparks a bit, reacting to her anxiety, and she huffs. Finally, she pushes the door open.

* * *

_Mother,_

_Surprise! I'm alive and well. The explosion at the Conclave didn't actually kill me, believe it or not. However, if you hadn't heard about that yet, the Conclave exploded and I am the only one inside who survived. My left hand also has a glowing green hole in it now, so writing to you is very strange._

_Now that you know I'm alive: let me inform you of the recent happenings._

_We both knew I'd see Cassandra when I came here. That was something you tried to prepare me for, and something I told you I was fine with. But you didn't know the whole truth, and I feel as though you should. Cassandra and I were lovers. She and I had been courting since we were 12. I was convinced I'd marry her, Mom. But Anthony died, and Cassandra ~~told me she couldn't love me~~ ended things between us. That's what pushed me to commit to being a Templar, even though I'd been having doubts._

_She tried to apologize to me. After breaking my heart and cutting all contact with our family, she tried to apologize to me. What gives her the right? Who does she think she is? This was after she'd accused me of blowing up the Conclave, killing the Divine and thousands of others, and tearing a hole into the sky. Why in the Void would she think I'd let her apologize?_

_I hate this, and I miss you. I'm coming home when this is all over. I'll bring Herah with me if she wants to come, and then I'm moving back to the estate. Herah can teach Marina everything she needs to know about magic. I need to sleep now, but I'm sending this out as soon as I can. I love you so much._

_-Your Rose_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun game: i made it about half way through the chapter i was writing and realized i was at 12 PAGES and i was like "oh fuck that's a little long" so i figured "hey lets cut the chapter in half so the few people who are actually intrigued by this have something to read!" originally i wanted this chapter to end in the hinterlands but yeet that.  
> i want to set a TENTATIVE schedule of posting every two weeks, but my living and schooling situation is a whole ass mess rn and i'm not sure how easily i'll be able to stick to that. i'll do my best tho, i promise.  
> anyway, i hope you like this thing i've done. let me know if i've messed anything up  
> another problem i've discovered i'll have is not double posting if i manage to finish the second half before i have to move again. but if you want me to post it before two weeks, lmk


	4. Into The Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We are not yet certain you won’t flee at the first opportunity. Arthur is a new father; he cannot travel with you. Who better to keep an eye on you than one of the Inquisition’s founders?”

_Rose,_

_Words cannot express how relieved I am to know you survived. Some of the neighboring nobles had returned home and informed us of what happened, but they did not stay long enough to discover your survival. Your brothers and father have letters on the way, but you’re getting mine first because I enchanted the raven I used. It will always be able to find you, and find its way back to me._

_I always had a feeling about you and Cassandra, my dear. At first I had assumed you were close the way I had been with her mother, but then I really watched how you looked at her. I’m sorry things ended the way they did, and I’m sorry she’s being difficult._

_Rosemarie, your spymaster sent people to give me a more complete rundown of your situation, and to provide protection. I’m still not sure what it is you have gotten yourself into, but please be careful._

_The Chantry mothers have informed us we must either denounce you or be excommunicated. We chose to support you wholeheartedly, and have removed ourselves from what remains of the Chantry. Your father’s mind is still fading to the lyrium, but he had no issue supporting you either. Your brothers are behind you as well. We love you so much, Rose. We know you’d never kill the Divine, and we know you can do this._

_-Delphina_

_PS: your father has announced his full support of this Inquisition, as have his siblings. Almost the entirety of house Trevelyan supports you, my love. I am so proud of you._

* * *

Cassandra is on the other side of the door, hands raised as though she were about to open it. They stand awkwardly, neither willing to make the first move.

Finally, Remi clears her throat and nods in the direction of the meeting room from the day before. Cassandra falls in step beside her, and the two of them walk in a tense silence until Cassandra takes notice of Remi massaging her marked hand through its glove.

“Does it trouble you?” the Seeker asks, head tilted to get a better view.

‘No shit.’ Remi wants to say, last night’s hurt still kicking inside of her, but starting a fight really isn’t something she needs right now. Conflict will keep her from getting home. “Not really.”

“What’s important is that your mark is now stable, as is the Breach.” Cassandra tries, and Remi hums in agreement. “You’ve given us time, and Solas believes a second attempt might succeed – given the mark has more power. The same level of power used to open the Breach in the first place. That is not easy to come by.”

Remi’s brows furrow, and she focuses on the faint pulse the mark sends through her skin. She wonders how he could have gathered that, seeing as she’s the only one who can feel the mark’s growing and waning hunger. She glances at Cassandra out of the corner of her eye.  “What harm could there be in powering up something we barely understand?” Dousing her feelings in sarcasm has never failed her before.

“Hold on to that sense of humor.” Cassandra half-laughs, watching Remi with something unidentifiable in her eyes.

“You know I always will.”

Cassandra pushes open the door to the meeting room – the War Room – she calls it, and Remi blinks a few times as her eyes ghost over the three people in the room. Leliana is present, as is the Commander, but the third person is someone Remi has never seen before. She’s positively gorgeous, dripping in puffy gold, eyes innocent and smile sweet. Remi smiles back, throwing her a quick wink.

“You’ve met Commander Cullen, leader of the Inquisition’s forces.” Cassandra reintroduces, and Cullen gives her a nod. Remi’s eyes flicker over his stance, his gauntlets.

_Templar._

“It was only for a moment on the field.” Cullen says, offering her a small smile. “I’m pleased you survived.”

“As am I.” Remi responds, merchant’s smile set deceptively on her lips.

Cassandra continues, gesturing to the woman dripping in gold. “This is lady Josephine Montilyet, our ambassador and chief diplomat.”

“I’ve heard much. A pleasure to meet you at last.” Josephine offers, giving another sweet smile and a small nod.

Remi nods back, a sultry smirk dancing across her face. “The pleasure is mine, my Lady.”

Cassandra clears her throat from Remi’s right, and she turns to the Seeker with a raised eyebrow. “And of course you know Sister Leliana.” Remi hums her agreement, still watching Cassandra watch her.

“My position here involves a degree of…” Leliana begins, but Cassandra does not give her a chance to finish.

“She is our spymaster.”

Leliana sighs, nodding almost forlornly. “Yes. Tactfully put, Cassandra.”

Remi rocks back on the balls of her feet, hands moving behind her back to fiddle with her hammer. “While I’m impressed with your titles, I’d love to know why I’m in here.”

It’s as though she’s opened the floodgates, three of the five people present throwing their opinions into the air about the best way to gather the power to close the Breach. Remi watches them argue pointlessly back and forth over the mages and Templars, sighing loudly in relief when Josephine finally dispenses the voice of reason.

“Unfortunately, neither group will even speak to us yet. The Chantry has denounced the Inquisition – and you specifically.” Josephine says the last part while gesturing to Remi with her quill, and Remi shrugs.

“It was about time.”

No one really knows what to say to her about that, all except Leliana watching her with varying degrees of confusion. Leliana looks as though she knows, and Remi genuinely isn’t surprised. It really is about time someone called her out on her desertion.

“Some are calling you the ‘Herald of Andraste’, and that frightens the Chantry. The remaining clerics have declared it blasphemy, and we heretics for harboring you.”

Remi uses the bare pads of her fingers to rub her temples, her earlier anxiety settling in once more. She doesn’t know what a Herald of Andraste entails, but she doesn’t want to be it. “Just how am _I_ the ‘Herald of Andraste’?” The last she’d heard, Andraste had no room for people like her.

It is disheartening to see the Seeker so readily defend her holiness, especially after everything she’d said. To have Cassandra – a woman who’d told her at her most vulnerable that the religion she followed forbade her very being – claim her holiness with such reverence in her voice was almost like she was trying to cover up what she’d said. What Remi was. And it made her very, very uncomfortable.

“It’s quite the title, isn’t it? How do you feel about that?” Cullen asks, head tilted a bit to the side.

Remi snorts, crossing her arms in front of herself. “I’m no herald of anything. Particularly Andraste.”

“I’m sure the Chantry would agree.”

“People are desperate for a sign of hope.” Leliana pipes, drawing all attention to where she sways gently at the edge of the table. “For some, you’re that sign.”

“And to others, a symbol of everything that’s gone wrong.” Remi huffs a laugh at Josephine’s choice of words. If Andraste has truly chosen her, things are most certainly wrong. But this could be a way out. The Inquisition can act without her, but keep her safe, and she’ll close the Breach and leave. No additional problems or trauma necessary.

“So if I wasn’t with the Inquisition…”

Cullen cuts her off, seemingly unaware she was trying to find a way out. “Let’s be honest: They would have censured us no matter what.”

“And you not being here isn’t an option.” Cassandra finishes, and Remi’s rebelliousness kicks into high gear. She could leave right now, if she so chose. The worst anyone could do once she leaves is kill her, and death is a blessing compared to being stuck in a religious war.

As though she senses Remi’s approaching outburst, Leliana steps in to quickly redirect. “There is something you can do.” She begins, once more drawing everyone’s attention. “A Chantry Cleric by the name of Mother Giselle has asked to speak to you. She is not far, and knows those involved far better than I. Her assistance could be invaluable.”

“All right then. I’ll see what she has to say.” It’s clear Remi doesn’t wish to, but there’s no real other choice anymore.

“You’ll find Mother Giselle tending to the wounded in the Hinterlands near Redcliffe.”

“Look for other opportunities to expand the Inquisition’s influence while you’re there.” Cullen suggests, directing her attention to the area on the large map where the Hinterlands is located.

“We need agents to extend our reach beyond this valley,” Josephine explains further, “and you’re the best suited to recruit them.”

Cassandra speaks up then, attempting to be helpful. “In the meantime, let’s think of other options. I won’t leave this all to the Herald.” Remi gags dramatically at the title, and Cullen stifles a laugh.

“You’re going to need to find something else to call me, Cass. The thought is sweet, but we all know I’m no herald.”

Josephine smiles at the two of them, and hands Remi a letter. “Friends in the Free Marches have been reporting on some of your relatives trying to invoke your name into getting things. When you’ve read through, we’ll give you the ways in which they can be dealt with.”

Remi skims through the letter, chuckling to herself when she’s finished. “This is going to be fun.”

-

Remi leaves the War Room much later that day, sighing in content at the thought of actually being able to go to sleep and ignore the rest of the world. However, the angry yelling coming from the room Josephine had said was her office has Remi completely rerouting her course of action. She pushes the door open hesitantly, wishing she could disappear when she finally hears the accent clearly.

_Orlesian._

Gross.

“The Inquisition _cannot_ remain, Ambassador, if you can’t prove it was founded on Justinia’s orders.” The masked man implores, his voice indicating he believes his opinion is all that matters.

“This is an inopportune time, Marquis. More of the faithful flock here each day.” Josephine soothes, and Remi’s lips pinch. Of course he’s nobility. Josephine catches sight of her, and tries her very best to redirect. “But allow me to introduce you to the brave soul who risked her life to slow the magic of the Breach. Ser Trevelyan, may I present the Marquis DuRellion, one of Divine Justinia’s greatest supporters.”

“And the rightful owner of Haven.” Remi sighs, staring incredulously into the holes where the Marquis’ eyes are visible. “House DuRellion lent Justinia these lands for pilgrimage. This “Inquisition” is not a beneficiary of this arrangement.”

Remi tilts her head to the side, thankful for the few inches she has on the Marquis as he shies away from her. “The Inquisition is sheltering both the injured and those who have made the pilgrimage. You cannot simply turn them out onto the snow.”

“And who benefits if they stay?” he asks, and Remi’s jaw drops in shock. He genuinely believes someone besides the injured should benefit from the use of this land. If she lacked restraint, she’d have hit him.

Josephine seems angered as well, brows furrowing and lip turning downward. “Divine Justinia, Marquis.” She says, political decency keeping her from sneering. “The Inquisition – _not_ the Chantry – is sheltering the pilgrims who mourn her.”

The Marquis blinks in shock, turning his entire body to face Josephine. “Why is the Chantry ignoring the faithful?” he inquires, and political decency does not keep Remi from sneering at him. The Chantry is and always will be incompetent, and this is just more proof.

“Because it remains in shock.” Josephine declares, jaw set in determination.

With a sigh, the Marquis swings his hands at his sides in defeat.

“We face a dark time, Your Grace.” Josephine continues, sympathy coating her tongue like honey. “Divine Justinia would not want her passing to divide us. She would, in fact, trust us to forge new alliances to the benefit of all, no matter how strange they might seem.”

There are a few moments of silence as the Marquis gathers his thoughts, and then he nods. “I’ll think on it, Lady Montilyet. The Inquisition might stay in the meanwhile.” He takes his leave then, and Remi closes the door behind him as quickly as she can. Then she turns to Josephine, face tight.

“I wanted to hit that man.” She says after a while, working her jaw to relieve her stress.

“I am grateful you did not.” Josephine laughs gently, and Remi wonders how she isn’t more distressed.

Remi offers her a sweet smile, calming herself to speak civilly. The last thing she would want to do is upset a woman who doesn’t deserve it. “I’m sorry for the intrusion. I heard yelling and assumed the worst.”

Josephine briefly lays a hand on her upper arm and smiles up at her. “I thank you for your concern, but things would not get physical. That is not the way of Orlesians.”

They spend a few more minutes talking before Remi takes her leave. Josephine introduces her to Minaeve as she moves to leave, and then stops her before she shuts the door. “Oh! I’d almost forgotten. Leliana wanted to speak with you; she said it was urgent. She operates out of the large tent near Threnn.”

Remi nods politely in return, a smile on her lips as she closes the door. Speaking with Leliana really isn’t something she wants to do, especially when she’s almost certain she knows what she wants to speak about. Leliana has been working with Cassandra for years, and there is no telling what Cassandra has and hasn’t told her.

There is no Arthur when she exits the Chantry, so she breathes in the new sense of freedom and walks toward the large tent. There are hooded agents scuttling about like the beetles in the market, and it draws a smirk to her face. That drops quickly when she hears Leliana’s prayers. Discomfort surges through her veins like the tide, and she turns to leave as quietly as possible. She’s nearly free, soft steps drawing little attention.

“You speak for Andraste, no?” Remi swears, turning to see Leliana’s eyes upon her. “What does the Maker’s prophet have to say about all this? What’s His game?”

Remi shrugs. “I speak for no one but myself, and I have no answers for you.”

Leliana turns away from her for a moment before turning back. It is clear to see she is struggling. “Then we can only guess at what He wants.” She moves to stand before Remi, and she noticed offhandedly just how pretty Leliana actually is. “The Chantry teaches that the Maker abandoned us. He demands repentance for our sins. He demands it all. Our lives. Our deaths. Justinia gave Him _everything_ she had, and He let her die.”

Remi tilts her head a bit to try and see Leliana’s eyes beneath her hood. “That is why I don’t believe anymore. He will take all you have to give, and then He will take more. But I’m sorry. Her death has clearly hit you hard.”

“Not just me. All of us. She was the Divine. She led the faithful. She was their heart! If the Maker doesn’t intervene to save the best of His servants, what good is He? I used to believe I was chosen, just as some say you are. I thought I was fulfilling His purpose for me, working with Divine, helping people. But now she’s dead. It was all for nothing. Serving the Maker meant nothing.”

“You shouldn’t think like that, Leliana.” Remi insists, marked hand bunching at her side. “How many lives did you change? How many places did you visit? Your actions will never mean _nothing_. Look around you, these people are a result of something _you_ organized. You don’t lack purpose, Nightingale. You’ve only lost it.”

Leliana exhales deeply and blinks a few times. “No, you shouldn’t concern yourself with how I feel. I regret that I even let you see me like this.”

“Leliana, I only-“

“It was a moment of weakness. It won’t happen again.” An agent appears to want her attention, standing a few paces away. “Come. To work then. We will speak later.”

Remi follows Leliana with her eyes, and then follows her in truth. She would be content to wait until they’ve finished discussion of their traitor, as betrayal has never been something she is good with. But when Leliana tells her agent to kill their traitor, Remi chooses to step in. She knows Leliana is grieving, and she knows all too well what grief does to one’s decision making.

“You’d kill him? Just like that?”

Leliana turns to her, eyebrow raised. “You find fault in my decision?”

“Most of your decisions are fine. But that one? A little extreme.”

“Extreme?” Leliana asks, seemingly flabbergasted. “Butler’s betrayal put our agents in danger. I condemn one man to save dozens. I may not like what I do, but it must be done. I cannot afford the luxury of ideals at a time like this.”

“Now is _precisely_ the time for ideals.” Remi implores, angling her head downward to once more try and catch Leliana’s eyes.

Leliana instructs her agent, and after he’s taken his leave, she attempts to send Remi on her way as well. The part of her that really just wants to go back to her little cabin and lie down pleads with her to leave, but she told Josephine she’d speak with Leliana.

“Josephine said you needed to talk to me about something. She said it was urgent.”

At her statement, Leliana turns, curiosity dancing in her eyes that she finally raises. “Yes, actually. What is your history with Seeker Cassandra? Do not deny it, I’ve seen enough to know you have one.”

Bringing up her old pain really isn’t something she wants to do, but if it will possibly save Leliana from thinking of her own grief and condemning people to death, she is willing to take that chance.

“Cassandra and I were very close when we were children, and spent many years that way. We eventually had a… falling out of sorts, and haven’t spoken in over 20 years. Seeing her again just brings back old feelings.” At Leliana’s knowing look, Remi sighs. “I loved her. She didn’t love me back. Tada.”

Leliana gives her a mischievous little smile, folding the letters on the table beside her. “These _old feelings_ won’t get in the way of your expeditions, will they? Cassandra will be travelling with you, after all.”

“What?!”

She seems to stifle a laugh. “We are not yet certain you won’t flee at the first opportunity. Arthur is a new father; he cannot travel with you. Who better to keep an eye on you than one of the Inquisition’s founders?”

Remi presses her cold fingers into the corners of her eyes, dragging them harshly down her face. The theatrics are all for Leliana’s benefit. Remi has always had a weakness for pretty girls in distress.

“Don’t look so forlorn, Lady Trevelyan. Think of it this way: you will be able to sleep next to her in a tent for weeks on end, bathe next to her in rivers! You will have all the time you need to work through your feelings.”

The small screech Remi releases in response makes Leliana laugh, and this reaction is genuine. What is she going to do now?

“I will drown myself in that river before I look.”

“I never said you had to look.”

Remi groans and turns on her heel, marching away as fast as she can. Beneath her own suffering, and the thoughts Leliana has planted in her head, Remi is glad to have made her laugh. Grief is a terrible thing, and being left alone with it doesn’t lead to a pleasant outcome.

She pushes Haven’s gates open and stop dead in her tracks. Cassandra seems immersed in her beating of the training dummies, sword swinging around her. Remi mind stutters at the sight. Gone is the softness Cassandra had possessed from their younger years, and in its place is a warrior.

And it is really, really attractive.

Her mind begins to work again and jumps to the things Leliana said. Whether or not she shows it, travelling with Cassandra is going to make her very uncomfortable. Remi is almost positive flirting with her will make Cassandra uncomfortable as well, so it looks like it will be worth it. After all, Cassandra can’t love her, and she won’t let herself love anyone again. What could go wrong?

When Remi finally makes her way over to the Seeker, Cassandra makes the noise of disgust that she seems to always make, and Remi smiles. “You’re kind of a force of nature, aren’t you?” She asks, because it’s truly bewildering to see the girl she used to protect from maggots be the warrior before her.

“When I need to be.”

Remi’s smile grows minutely sultrier, eyes shining. “It’s impressive.”

“You flatter me.” Cassandra says, breaking eye contact to once more look at the dummy.

“I’m trying.”

Cassandra turns from her fully now, spinning the sword within her hand. If not for the blade, Remi would not have known she were doing it. She grins. It seems she’s accomplished her mission.

“Did I do the right thing?” Cassandra asks her suddenly, and Remi’s smile drops. Fuck. “What I have set in motion here could destroy everything I have revered my whole life. One day, they may write about me as a traitor, a madwoman, a fool. And they may be right.”

 _‘Revered my whole life.’_  Remi fights the urge to scoff. She forces the old bitterness deep into the pit of her stomach, locking it up and snapping the key. Cassandra is being vulnerable with her, and the last thing Remi needs to do is knock her down when she’s already low. Even if that is what Cassandra would have done.

“You are far from foolish, Cassandra. But when it comes down to it, it is too late to turn back. What’s done is done.” Cassandra only hits the next dummy in line a few more times in response.

“My trainers always said, ‘Cassandra, you are too brash. You must think before you act.’ I see what must be done, and I do it! I see no point in running around in circles like a dog chasing its tail.” Remi can admit that these words sting, but she knows they are true. Cassandra has never been one to second-guess herself. “But I misjudged you in the beginning, did I not? I thought the answer was before me, clear as day. I cannot afford to be so careless again.”

Remi laughs gently, playing with the chainmail on her thighs. “Can’t say I’m not grateful to hear that.”

“I can be harsh, I know.” Remi’s lungs twist into little knots as her heart races, heat spreading to places it shouldn’t.

Fuck you, Leliana.

Cassandra turns and begins to walk away, and Remi breathes a sigh of relief. She needs a distraction, or to simply go take care of this problem that Cassandra’s presence keeps making worse- oh. She’s coming back.

“You said you don’t believe you’re chosen. Does that mean… you also don’t believe in the Maker?”

Remi exhales heavily, dragging one of her hands through her hair. “Cassandra, I can’t give you the answer you want to hear.”

“So you don’t?” It’s easy to see Cassandra’s disappointment, but Remi doesn’t feel bad.

“I’ve lost too much to the Maker. It is easier to believe He doesn’t exist than to believe something I can’t see took the things that mattered most to me.”

Once more, Cassandra’s eyes grow sad. She opens her mouth as though to speak but stops, rethinks, and tries again. “I suppose it doesn’t matter now. I have to believe we were put on this path for a reason, even if you do not. Now it simply remains to see where it leads us.”

Remi takes her leave then, weaving through the fighting pairs of soldiers around her. She keeps her eyes as close to the ground as is safely possible, only looking up when one of the soldiers get knocked down at her feet. She offers her a gentle smile and looks around, finding Cullen’s eyes boring into hers. He blushes at being caught.

But she’s had her share of interaction, and turns toward Harritt’s little home. She ignores Cassandra when she has to pass her again, breaking into a jog once she’s passed the blacksmiths. Remi finds a small dock frozen into the ice and breathes a sigh of relief.

The toes of her boots bump the ice when she swings her legs. She wonders what kind of fish are frozen in this lake, and what they’d go for at the market. Would they be considered exotic? The cold mountain air permeates her body, making it feel like her very organs are shivering.

What was she going to do? Remi has never been this far south in her life. There is no one here that she knows, and every tentative friendship she’s formed has only been alive for one day. She doesn’t know the terrain, and exploring is not an option. As it is, soldiers hover only 20 feet away, keeping an eye on her.

Remi wants to go home. The letter she’d written, that she desperately needed to send, says she’d come back to Ostwick. Be with the family, take up her position in House Trevelyan once more. But Ostwick is saturated in Remi, the _real_ Remi, and she’s not sure she can handle that.

How can she go back to being Rose after she’s spent the last 15 years trying to be him? Trying to give her brother the life he deserved, the life her Order had stolen from him. A life free from politics and responsibility and harm. That was the life he deserved, the life she’d tried to give him. Seere gave him that life, even if she had to live it for him. It’s the least she could do.

Remi knows it’s not healthy, pretending to be her brother. It’d started small: cutting her hair as short as he’d kept it. Then she’d asked her new friends to call her Remi instead of Rose. Herah had been so confused, but she hadn’t asked. It had escalated then, growing so bad that her reflection _became_ Remington.

Even now, in the ice, Remington stares back at her. They’d been twins, sure, but this wasn’t healthy.

Was it fair?

Remi died when they were 20. He has been dead for 17 years, and she can’t let him go. Do spirits get to pass on when someone holds on to them as strongly as she does? Or are they held in limbo, suffering in eternal silence until people finally _let them go?_ Maeve would probably know, but Maeve is in Seere, with Faust and Satchel and Herah.

Maybe Solas knows.

As though he’s been summoned, the elven man comes to sit beside her on the dock. He may have been there for a while if she’s being honest. Solas seems unbothered by the cold, bare toes dangling only a few inches above the ice.

“You’re a dreamer, yes? A somniari?” She asks finally, and Solas seems startled that she’s spoken. He’s definitely been there a while then.

“I am.”

“How much do you know about the Fade, Solas? And spirits and death?”

He’s silent for a moment, watching the sun dance on the horizon. Dusk is rapidly approaching. “I know a great deal from my explorations and dreaming, though it is all from the memories of others.” He seems to add the last bit as an afterthought, but she pays it no mind. “Why do you ask?”

“We all always ask where we go when we die. It’s a question that most religions think they have answered. But religion is wrong, at least most of the time. I feel as though a mage, especially one who can walk the Fade, would know better than I.” She pauses then, drawing her knees to her chest and resting her head on them. “Whatever it is that happens to our souls when we die, does holding on to someone’s memory make it hard for them to go wherever they need to?”

The silence stretches between them, but it’s not as awkward or tense as she’d thought it would be. Solas thinks for a while, studying her face with eyes older than his skin. Remi realizes then that all dreamers have the same look in their eyes. Maeve’s eyes were always older than the rest of her. Remi’s were, too.

“People are like ideas.” Solas says finally, drumming his fingers on the dock between them. “They are held close for however long they last, and after they’re over, they last a while longer. The living miss the things they’ve lost, be it ideas or other beings. But ideas cannot be put to rest if someone clings to them with all they have. Whoever it is you have lost, you should allow yourself to grieve and let go.”

“Thank you.” Remi murmurs after a while, continuing to watch the sun set behind the mountains that surround them. Her stomach growls and Solas chuckles beside her.

“When was the last time you ate?”

“It was early. Really early.”

A smile twitches the corner of his lips, and he stands. “Come then. Varric has nearly turned Haven over looking for you, claiming he needs to buy you a drink.”

Remi stands up to follow him, flexing her frozen fingers with a frown. Solas offers his hand and warms them with magic. “I’ll have to turn him down, then.” She says, wiggling her now thawed digits. “I don’t ever want to be addicted to anything again.”

“Addiction?”

“Whoops. I forget you only just found out this morning. As all Templars are, I was addicted to lyrium. I’ve long since broken that addiction, but I don’t want another one. I also much prefer watching people get drunk and act stupid.”

Solas is once more studying her with wide eyes, and she fights a grin. He reminds her Teodoro when he does that, desperate to learn something new. “I’ll let you pick my brain later, Solas. For now, I’d really like to eat.” After a moment she turns to him again. “If Varric couldn’t find me, how did you?”

“Your emotions are very strong. That may be a result of the mark, but I am not entirely sure.”

“Ah. That’s actually kind of cool.” But it really isn’t, because Remi knows it’s not the mark. Maeve had said the same thing. She’d thought it may be the result of sharing the womb with a powerful mage.

They walk in amicable silence until they reach the door of the tavern, where Solas bids her farewell and continues toward his cabin. Remi pushes the door open with a sigh, and all the lively chatter ceases.

Fuck. She’s definitely going to get Harritt to attach a hood to this dumb armor they’re making her wear. Or maybe she’ll get a cloak.

Varric makes himself known, bringing back the liveliness with the promise of a free round and waving her over. One of the serving girls brings over a bowl of whatever has been served for dinner, and Remi’s mouth waters. She sits down beside him, thanks him silently, and begins to practically inhale it. Varric laughs from his seat beside her, watching her almost fondly.

“Hawke used to do this. Go days without eating then eat everything in sight.”

She shrugs in response, slowing down when her stomach protests. “Not my fault, bud. We Free Marchers are all built the same.”

Varric laughs again. “Let me get you a drink, kid. Loosen you up a bit.”

“Oof, no thank you.” She responds, pushing the bits of potato around in her bowl. “I don’t drink.”

Her statement baffles him, but he accepts her refusal just fine. They spend a few hours in the little tavern, Varric steadily becoming more intoxicated and Remi growing more and more amused. It is only when Varric mistakenly calls her Hawke that she decides to call it a night.

“I’ve got to go, Varric. We have to set out for the Hinterlands in the morning, and I’m still getting used to sleeping in your southern beds.”

He lets her go without a problem, and the cold night air is her only companion as she collects her thoughts. Varric’s earlier comparison of her to Hawke makes sense. He misses him. Remi hadn’t stopped to really think about it, but Varric is as alone here as she is. They’re both from the north, both taken as prisoners by the one and only Cassandra fucking Pentaghast.

Maybe she’s not as alone as she thought.

The bed in her cabin is a welcomed sight, and she discards her armor as quickly as she can before diving into it. The cold air is not something she appreciates. The numerous blankets are a blessing to her shivering body, and she pleads that any and all dreams will leave her be.

Maybe the Hinterlands will be warmer.

-

The Hinterlands are not warmer, but there is no ice in the surrounding ponds and lakes. Remi nearly sobs in relief when they find a merchant sitting in the middle of the makeshift village selling fishing poles. Cassandra and the other Inquisition agents are checking to make sure the rogue Templars and mages are dead, but at this point Remi could care less. She has a _fishing pole_ now.

The merchant tentatively offers her a small collection of knives, and Remi grins. Does she want the knives? Not really. Are they the most expensive thing on this man’s cart? Probably. But the group of children excitedly counting her previous payment behind him are rapidly stealing her heart, so she buys the knives and tucks them into her bag.

The merchant thanks her reverently, and Remi smiles politely. She waves goodbye to the children and goes back to her travelling companions, waving away the questioning looks they give her.

“I told you I was a fisherwoman, didn’t I? Now I can feed you guys. I just hope the south has good spices.”

Cassandra appears by her side, having caught the tail end of her statement. “Believe me, they do not.”

“I’m sure Chuckles will like the spices here. I have a feeling his palate is rather… bland.” Varric pokes at Solas, and the elf look mildly offended. Cassandra hides her amusement behind a cough, turning to Remi and trying to appear stern.

“Mother Giselle is up those stairs tending to the wounded. You should speak with her.”

Part of Remi wants to argue. Say that, ‘No, Cassandra. You’re Andrastian, you should speak with her.’ but she won’t. Causing problems is not something Remi wants to do right now, not when she’s finally in a position to help people again. So she does what she’s supposed to.

And it goes exactly how she thought it would.

Mother Giselle is a sweet lady, reminding her heavily of Senior Enchanter Lydia. But Mother Giselle still holds her faith in the Maker. She tells Remi to head to Val Royeaux and make the Chantry’s current leaders doubt. Remi purses her lips as she heads back to her companions, mind racing. She can make people doubt something, but their religion is not it.

As they’re making their way back up to camp, the mark sputters in her hand. It hisses in the back of her head, and Remi can smell the magic of the Fade rift. She’s stopped walking, head turning on its own accord and seeming to find the rift through the hill it sits upon. Solas presses the end of his staff into the dirt to anchor himself and feel it as well.

Neither Cassandra nor Varric can feel it, but the crackling of the mark gives it away.

“Who wants to fight some more demons?” Remi asks, a halfhearted smirk on her face. “They’re up over this hill.”

Cassandra draws her sword and gets ready, and Varric only groans.

The hill is steep, and the ominous crackling of the rift as it responds to the mark is not pleasant. Cassandra takes the lead up the hill, Varric and Solas following behind her, and Remi bringing up the rear. She sets her new fishing pole against a rock and turns to the first shade that rises from the ground.

It doesn’t get a chance to attack before she’s slammed her hammer into it. Solas freezes one coming up behind her, and she shatters that one as well. Cassandra taunts the remaining few as Varric tries to pick them off from a distance, and Remi raises her hand to the rift. The mark connects to it and she pulls, weaving the sky back together.

The rift, unhappy with being closed, pushes itself back open and spits out more shades. One begins to rise from the ground beside her, and Remi slams her hammer into it. The acidic bubbles fizzle out and die. Cassandra comes careening into her, a shade having knocked her from her feet. Remi rights her quickly, shouting a thank you to Varric when he takes out the demon that had been coming for them.

The rest of the shades fall quickly, and Remi closes the rift with little struggle. The mark hums quietly in content as Remi retrieves her fishing pole. Varric goes to make a quip and she shushes him, a smile spreading across her face.

“Do you hear that?” She asks them, beginning to bounce on her toes in excitement. Solas watches her quizzically, but Varric’s smile is fond.

“A waterfall.” Cassandra says, and Remi points at her with her fishing pole.

“You’re damn right, Cassie.”

She giggles quietly as she jogs toward the sound, sighing in content at the sight of water that is deep enough to fish in. “This looks like a good spot to camp.” Solas says, content to be in nature.

“If we’re camping here, two of us are going to have to head back and grab our tents and packs and such. I’d suggest Solas and Cassandra, as they’re less likely to argue.”

“And leave you and Varric to run for the hills?” Cassandra asks, putting her fists on her hips. “Not a chance.”

She ends up heading back to the main camp with Solas.

Remi kicks off her boots and socks and sticks her toes into the shallows of the water, ignoring the frigidity of it and casting her line. Varric leans against a tree beside her, Bianca laying across his lap. She catches mostly trout, some she has never seen and some that have shown up in her markets. By the time Solas and Cassandra have made it back, Remi is trying – and failing – to start a fire while Varric doses.

“What kinds of fish did you catch?” Cassandra asks, handing Remi a pack she’d brought with them. Remi opens it to finds different sorts of spices, and although they are all from the south, she still grins.

“Just trout. The south really has been bland so far.”

Solas pipes in then, gazing at the makings of the tent he will share with Varric in masked confusion. “We are also miles from the sea, so your options are severely limited.”

“Okay then, Mr. I-sleep-in-nature, let me put up that tent for you since you clearly don’t know how.” Remi teases, taking the pieces he’d been holding and picking up the ones you’re actually supposed to start with. “Go make sure Varric isn’t dead.”

Varric starts at the sound of his name, grunting and announcing that he is not, in fact, dead. Solas moves over to the small stream and sits beside Remi’s line, watching in mild fascination as it bobs when fish test it.

He must have survived on mostly fruit, Remi thinks, if he’s this fascinated with a fishing line.

She and Cassandra put up the tents in a decent amount of time, and Solas starts the fire with a snap of his fingers. Varric starts once more at the sound of the fire’s crackling, grumbling as he moves closer to watch Remi cook and season. A few of the agents from the main camp bring their tents as well, setting up the tables for making potions and writing letters.

After she’s fed her companions (and some of the scouts), Remi sets out her bed roll on her side of the tent and undresses. She curls inside of it, back turned to Cassandra’s side and she closes her eyes. The tent opens once more, and she can hear the clinking and rustling of Cassandra’s armor as she discards it. Her mind swirls back to the things Leliana had said back at Haven, and Remi’s thoughts take a nosedive.

Her cheeks heat up as she tries _not_ to think about the fact that Cassandra is undressing right behind her, tries not to think about the bare skin of her body, how toned she must’ve become with all these years of training, how-

“Are you all right, Rosemarie?” Cassandra whispers, and Remi cringes. She is not all right, in fact she’s all _wrong_ , but Cassandra didn’t need to know that.

“I’m fine. Go to sleep.” Remi whispers back, curling tighter into herself and trying to banish all of her thoughts and feelings from her mind. Sleep is what she needs right now, not to run circles inside her mind and between her legs with thoughts about Cassandra she shouldn’t have.

The Seeker is still for a moment before shuffling into her own bed roll, and everything is silent save for their breathing and the shuffling of the scouts keeping watch outside. Remi lies in suspense for what feels like hours before Cassandra finally begins to snore lightly behind her, and Remi’s heart fills with a twisted kind of nostalgia.

Suddenly she’s 15, lying under the stars with Cassandra curled atop her. They both are exhausted, Cassandra’s breathing evening as her body goes slack. Remi breathes in the scent of her hair, now mostly that of the outdoors, and her heart is full.

But that had all been a lie. Cassandra had never loved her, and Remi clenches her jaw to keep from sniffling. She curses herself in her head as a few tears slip. It’s been 22 years; she should be over this. But it’s clear she’s not, and she has no choice but to live with it. At least until this is all over, and she can run home to Herah.

Sweet, honest Herah.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i actually went through and read this one for spelling mistakes, but that doesn't mean they aren't there so PLS let me know if you find any!!  
> but hey, now we know why Remi calls herself Remi instead of Rose. and we're seeing her struggle with those Old Gay Feelings and some Sad Thoughts. always fun.  
> i would die for remi, my dudes. my beautiful baby girl


	5. In This House, We Hate Orlesians

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I am a proficient healer, should you require it.”  
> “You’re a little bitch is what you are.”

“Cassandra, for the last time, I’m not riding that fucking horse any further! This is animal abuse, and I’m not here for it.”

The work horses they’d been provided were not war horses, with their old joints and tired eyes. In an ideal world these horses would have been retired by now, living out the rest of their years on a farm while younger horses took their place. But the Inquisition is undersupplied, and sending horses out was the last thing they needed as it was.

“Rosemarie, travelling on foot will get us nowhere! I understand your reservations, but we need to move with purpose.”

Solas and Varric sit silently atop their own horses, glancing between the arguing pair and each other with wide eyes.

“That’s too bad. I’m not mounting that horse again, and you can’t make me. You can either get your head out of your ass and realize I, a _Trevelyan_ , know what I’m talking about, or you can keep working your horse and cry when it falls apart underneath you.”

Cassandra drags a hand down her face and exhales heavily, relenting after only a moment. “Varric. Solas. We’ll be travelling on foot from here on out.”

Remi blinks a few times. Cassandra usually puts up more of a fight than this, at least she has with every other agent who has tried to tell her what to do. Yet she’s accepted Remi’s defiance with mere exasperation.

Something has to be wrong.

“Are you all right, Cass?” She asks, picking up her pace to hike beside Cassandra.

The Seeker peers at her from the corner of her eye before picking her way around an uprooted tree. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Oh. No reason, I guess.”

-

What feels like thousands of Templars and mages later, and far more guilt and sadness than she bargained for, Remi is thoroughly exhausted. She’s closed too many rifts, killed too many people, and climbed far too many hills.

“Rosemarie, I believe this is the cult that refugee told us his son had joined.”

The whine that leaves Remi’s throat is long and high pitched, and Varric snickers from behind her. “Come on now, Songbird. It’s only a little cult.”

Remi lets herself fall back onto a stone, resting her elbows on her knees and gazing at her companions in exasperation. “Varric, I sang you _one_ song. One. I don-“

“Templar deserters!” Varric shouts, taking off in the direction where Remi has just picked up shouting. Cassandra draws her sword and shield and sprints after Varric, Solas following behind as Remi scrambles to stand. Exhaustion eats at her very soul, slowing her down drastically.

Her companions have taken care of the Templars by the time she arrives, so she drops her hammer and helps the Inquisition scout to her feet. The elven woman is shaking violently, and she tries desperately to hide the quiver of her chin. Remi sees it, and judging from the change in his expression, Varric does too.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what had happened. From the barely clothed mage to Ritts’ own haphazard clothing, Remi gathers the pieces with a heavy heart.

“So, the truth… I may have been, um, passing time with Eldredda.”

This world is cloaked so heavily in despair and misfortune, Remi wonders if she’ll ever find a way out. From a mother’s survival depending on a stranger finding her son, to a woman’s husband torn from her by power mad Templars, to a young lover murdered and violated in the wilderness, and settling on this. Remi can barely breathe as she drowns in it all, and her heart yearns for the comfort of Herah’s arms. She could make the world _go away._

“I’d do the same, given the chance. A small moment to distract from this mess is understandable.”

The story grows sadder still, and Remi wishes she could just lie down. “We were… yes.” Ritts finally confirms, and it’s clear the young woman is struggling. “At first she was just a mage who saw me and didn’t attack, but-but later, we… So, are you going to report me?”

“Oh, no! Maker, no. I would never.” Remi jumps to reassure her, moving to touch her but hesitating.

“Look, kid,” Varric cuts in, seeing Remi’s hesitation and moving to her side. “If you can talk an apostate out of her pants in the middle of a war, you’ve got a gift. Use it. Make contacts, get information, and help the Inquisition. Do that, and our lips are sealed.”

“All right, I can do that. And… thanks for going easy on me.”

Her party may be moving on, heading towards the castle, but Remi isn’t done yet. She may not be able to solve every problem, heal every hurt, but she’s not going to let this poor woman process her shock alone.

“Ritts, are you all right?” It’s a simple question, but tears swell in Ritts’ eyes.

“I’m fine! I promise.”

“Honey,” Remi murmurs, taking on the tone she’d use when soothing her nieces and nephews. “You’re not fine. And that’s okay, okay? Whether or not you knew her, you clearly let her in. I can’t do much for you besides keeping your secret, but I can offer you support. Do you need a hug?”

Ritts hesitates until Remi opens her arms, then she surges forward and tucks her head beneath Remi’s chin. She sniffles a few times, hands bunching in the loose chainmail of Remi’s odd hood, and burrows closer. Remi hums softly to her, swaying them gently until Ritts calms enough to pull away.

“Thank you.” She says, coughing and scrubbing the tears from the corners of her eyes.

“Any time,” Remi answers, “I mean it.” She watches Ritts go and turns to her companions who have stopped a few paces away.

“You care a great deal, Remi.” Solas observes, though he isn’t looking for a response. Remi knows it’s the closest to a compliment she’ll get from the shady elf, and it does wonders to lighten her mood.

That mood quickly plummets when she meets Speaker Anais. It settles like a rock on the sea floor as their conversation progresses, and sits comfortably within the sand as her party makes the trek towards the rift.

The mark crackles under her skin, and she’s thankful for the emptiness it brings as the fighting begins. No longer does it whisper within the base of her skull, and Remi likes to think she and the mark have come to some sort of understanding. She’ll feed it every rift she finds, and it won’t cause her pain in return. It’s only an afterthought that they’re helping to save the world as well.

Fuck, when had she started referring to herself and the mark as ‘they’? It’s a parasite, feeding off of her body if she doesn’t feed it something else. Fighting has become reflex, and the mark seems to cover anything she’s left open. It worked almost like a shield in the previous fight, though she won’t mention that to anyone. The last thing she needs is her kind-of-captors thinking she’s being controlled by the mark.

It feeds on this new rift almost lethargically, her palm and wrist heavy with the energy of the previous rifts she’s closed. Her eyes flutter when it finally snaps shut, and relief floods her.

“Rosemarie? Open your eyes! We need you to get up.”

The relief that had flooded her had apparently been unconsciousness, because now she forces her eyes open and is met with Cassandra’s concerned gaze. The Seeker breathes a minute breathe of relief and stands abruptly, moving away from Remi.

“How’re you feeling?” Varric asks, crouching near her head and offering a smile. Remi blinks a few times and pushes herself into a sitting position.

“Like shit, if I’m being honest.”

“Solas, do you know why she collapsed?” Cassandra demands, turning to the mage and crossing her arms. The elven man leans on his staff, watching Remi with curiosity.

He places his staff on his back before he speaks. “Remi is not a mage, and the use of magic is very taxing on her body. It is likely she will need to rest and recover before she can continue closing rifts.”

“It’s good we have closed all the reported rifts in the area. Let us speak with that woman from the gate before we return to camp.” Cassandra states, and her tone leaves no room for question. Alas, Remi is exhausted, thoroughly bruised, and she is not one for ignoring tasks.

“Actually, Seeker Pentaghast, I still have to find that refugee’s child about the potion. And I have to find that dead woman’s lover. We can’t forget about the ring I have to return, or the cache locations I have to mark, or the ram meet we have to bring in, or-“

“Songbird, you need to rest before we can go very far.” Varric cuts in, ruffling her already messy hair. “Do the stuff you can do here, then go back to camp.”

Remi pouts, but agrees nonetheless, and pushes herself to her feet. Cassandra catches her arm when she stumbles. “Are you all right?” Cassandra asks, and Remi leans into her for a moment. It’d be so easy to just collapse here and sleep for years. Cassandra shifts to accommodate the added weight, and Remi jerks away from her.  

“Yeah. ‘M fine.” She needs sleep. The rifts are not the only things slowly draining her energy; she is no longer used to sleeping alone. It’s been weeks since she’s slept well.

The four of them make their way back up the stairs, keeping their pace slow as to minimize Remi’s risk of falling over. People are kneeling once they’ve crested the stairs, and Remi doesn’t bother hiding her grimace. They wander into the small section of the building that looks like it’d once been a tavern, but now serves the cult as an inn. Remi falls heavily into the seat at an empty table, and her companions join her.

Speaker Anais approaches the party, hands clasped and expression reverent. Remi can only sigh. “Maker’s tears! I was a fool to have doubted ya. How may we serve you, Herald of Andraste?”

Remi drums her fingers on the table, trying to figure out what a cult could actually do for the Inquisition. Finally, she sucks in a deep breath and decides, “Have your believers spread word of an Inquisition.” Had these people not believed so deeply in their cult, she’d have sent them off to help the refugees instead.

“As you say, Herald of Andraste. Some few will remain here; the rest will go forth to do your will. When the Maker calls you to your great purpose, remember that we served you.” Remi gives the speaker her most charming smile and promise that yes, she will remember how they served her. However, the moment Anais leaves their vision, Remi lets her head thump against the table with a loud whine.

Varric laughs at her wholeheartedly while Cassandra and Solas can only watch in sympathy. Solas clears his throat when someone approaches, and Remi collects herself quickly, picking her head up and offering the approaching man a sweet smile.

“Excuse me,” he begins, “while you were coming up, did you meet a young noble woman with blonde hair and pale green eyes?” The table’s spirits collectively drop, all of them thinking back to the Templars they’d killed earlier that day who had hovered over the dying girl like birds of prey. They’d been unable to save her. “Lady Vellina should be here. We need to be together when the Maker comes.”

Remi, never one good at delivering bad news, gets right to the point. “I found a woman’s body down the hill with a letter on it.” She keeps it simple, sparing the details about how she’d still been alive when they’d found her, and what the Templars had been using her for. Behind her, Cassandra pulls the letter from one of their packs.

“This letter…” the man breathes, and Cassandra hands it to him. His eyes grow wet as he reads it, hands beginning to shake. “Vellina is dead? But… but we were meant to be together! The Maker would not keep us apart! What am I supposed to do now?”

Remi watches him with sad eyes, sympathy curling around her. The Maker takes and takes, he does not believe in love.

“The Inquisition needs men who believe as strongly as you do. Come and help us restore order.” It pains her to say it, especially with how she has to, but this man needs something to lean on while he grieves. If the Inquisition can be that something, she’ll be grateful.

“Yes. If waiting here leaves innocents to die, then I will bring the Maker’s word by the sword. My men and I will lend our strength to the Inquisition. Thank you.” Faith newly restored, the nobleman heads back up the stairs. Remi drags her hands down her face, shoulders sagging in fatigue.

She waves away her companions’ concern, staggering to her feet and making her way to the center courtyard. One of the cult’s participants, thrilled that the Herald of Andraste is speaking to him, gladly directs her to Hyndel. Remi whines once more at the sight of the ladder she’ll have to climb, and her companions all make noises of either amusement or pity.

At the top of the ladder is a scrawny elven teen, flipping through his book and seeming to enjoy himself. He startles at the sight of Remi, shrinking slightly in his chair. “I greet you,” he placates, “my name is Hyndel.”

Satisfied that she’s found the right person, Remi dives straight to the point. “Hyndel, your mother can’t breathe. Your father sent me here for potion.” At her words he bolts from his seat, hands raised and eyes wide.

“What? She was fine! She hasn’t had the breathing trouble in…” at Remi’s look, he stops arguing. “All right. I can help. Here. I have some already made. Go! Take it to her now!”

Remi offers a small wave and turns, choosing to head across the small bridge in hope of stairs. Instead of stairs, she finds another ladder.

“I sense an artifact of my people.”

Oh, and there’s that as well.

Remi whines for the third time, sliding down the wall nearest to her and curling into a ball. “Nope. You can go on and activate it, Solas. I am going to stay right here and take a nap.” Solas watches her momentarily before nimbly climbing the ladder, Cassandra following only when Varric hunkers down beside Remi against the wall. She rests her head on his shoulder and huffs, nudging him when he laughs.

“Wake me up when we can leave.”

She doesn’t actually mean to dose, but Remi is considerably crankier when Cassandra nudges her awake a few minutes later. “We can go now, Rosemarie.” The Seeker helps them both to their feet, and the party stays relatively silent as they make the trek back to camp. They’re all eternally grateful that no rogue Templars or mages decided to pick a fight with them on their way back.

Remi could cry tears of joy at the sight of their camp, and she all but collapses onto her bedroll the second the tent flap closes behind her. Cassandra follows shortly after, shuffling from foot to foot near the entrance.

“What?” Remi finally huffs, turning her head to watch her through half lidded eyes.

Cassandra makes a circular motion with her hands, gesturing to Remi’s entire body. “Are you not going to take off your armor? It can’t be comfortable, and you need rest.”

“Are you trying to get me to undress, Seeker? Do you want to watch?”

At Remi’s words, Cassandra’s cheeks burn red. “Rosemarie! No. That was not- you twisted my words!” Remi laughs in response, pushing herself into a sitting position. She fumbles with the clasps of her armor for a moment before sighing and gazing at Cassandra with pleading eyes.

“Do you… need help?” She asks, taking tentative steps towards her. Remi can only nod pitifully. Cassandra undoes the clasps with experienced fingers and helps Remi wiggle out of them. When all but her pants and breastband have been removed, Remi flops back against her bedroll and watches Cassandra set her armor in the chest against the wall.

“Why haven’t you been sleeping, Rosemarie?” Cassandra asks, undoing the clasps of her own armor and setting it in the other half of the chest.

Remi moves her eyes from Cassandra, instead watching the candles’ light dance across the roof of their tent. “I’ve shared a bed with someone for the last 15 years. It’s weird sleeping alone.” Her fatigue makes her more open, freer with her words.

Cassandra drops the armor she had been holding, and the loud clang startles Remi into sitting up. Cassandra picks it up and lays it down properly, coughing to cover it up. “You share a bed?” Remi scoffs in response, laying back down and turning away.

“Not in a sexual way, Cassandra. And that shouldn’t be any of your concern anyway.”

“So you shared your bed like we did when we were girls? And it helped you sleep?”

Remi rolls over to face Cassandra this time, propping her head up and studying Cassandra’s face. The candlelight exaggerates the shadows, and Remi’s gut chooses that moment to remind her of everything Leliana had said. “The person I shared my bed with didn’t lie to me about how they felt.”

Silence permeates the tent, and Remi once more rolls to face away from Cassandra. She tucks herself under her fur blankets, curling into herself as she’s done every night since they started camping.

“Rosemarie…” Cassandra begins, guilt dripping from her voice, but Remi won’t have it.

“Goodnight, Cassandra.”

-

The final night they are back in Haven before they leave for Val Royeaux, Ritts knocks on Remi’s door. She comes seeking comfort, and that comfort evolves into something Remi hasn’t had in years. But Ritts doesn’t leave when it’s over, content to sleep as close to Remi’s chest as she can get. When the anxiety finally calms and sleep swaddles her like a blanket, it’s the best sleep Remi has gotten since she climbed off the boat that brought her to Ferelden.

The trip from Haven to Val Royeaux is long and boring, but another good night of sleep presents itself as the boat rocks her. While her companions are unhappy with the constant rocking, Remi bounces out of the boat and into Val Royeaux with a smile on her face and an annoying amount of pep in her step.

That pep goes away when they begin their walk across the bridge to the city. She was here only once as a girl, when she’d sought out a book of poetry as she tried to surprise Cassandra in their youth. Remington had walked beside her then, his favorite scarf wrapped around his shoulders. The Chantry had let him go with them.

This time, it is Cassandra who walks beside her, and Varric and Solas who walk behind. There will be no happy memories made this time.

The noblewoman who had walked near them mere seconds before flees at the sight of the emblems upon their armor. Remi sighs gently, smiling softly as Cassandra and Varric tease each other. One of Leliana’s people jogs up to them, face nervous.

“My Lady Herald.” she addresses respectfully, kneeling before them. Remi gives the scout a charming smile, and Varric once more pats her thigh.

“What have you found?” Cassandra asks, coming to stand a little ways in front of Remi.

The scout looks even more nervous now, eyes flitting back and forth between Cassandra and Remi. “The Chantry mothers await you, but… so do a great many Templars.”

Remi’s stomach fills with dread, but Cassandra looks almost relieved. “There are Templars here?”

“People seem to think the Templars will protect them from… from the Inquisition. They’re gathering on the other side of the market. I think that’s where the Templars intend to meet you.”

Cassandra sets her shoulders and looks back at Remi. “Only one thing to do, then.” She stops after she’s started walking, finally seeming to grasp what was said. “They wish to protect the people? From us?”

Remi scoffs a laugh, arms crossed in front of her. “From the blasphemous ‘Herald of Andraste’, is more like it.”

“What’s not to love about you, Songbird? You’ve got style, charisma, and you could feed a whole village! Why would anyone want to be protected from you?” They all know Varric is being sarcastic, though Solas seems content in correcting him anyway.

“Humans fear the things they do not understand. Remi is an unknown, and she is accused of both killing their Divine and ripping a hole in the sky. It is not surprising they fear her.”

“Thank you, Chuckles, for ruining my enthusiasm.”

“My pleasure, Master Tethras.”

Cassandra puts a decisive end to their conversation, and she and Remi lead the way into the center of the market place. The crowd of nobles grows thicker the closer they get to the entrance of the docks, so Varric and Solas decide to hang back. Remi reaches for them dramatically, pleading expression plastered across her face. Varric mimics her and Solas only smirks.

The crowd parts around them like schools of fish to sharks, and the lead Chantry mother catches sight of them. The few Templars who flank her see them as well.

“Good people of Val Royeaux, hear me!” Remi steels herself for the inevitable verbal attack, and any physical ones that may come. “Together we mourn our Divine. Her naïve and beautiful heart silenced by treachery! You wonder what will become of her murderer. Well, wonder no more! Behold the so-called Herald of Andraste! Claiming to rise where our beloved fell. We say this is a false prophet! No servant of anything beyond her selfish greed!”

“Enough!” Remi shouts, and Cassandra jumps beside her. “I will not listen to these self-serving lies! We came here to talk.”

Cassandra holds Remi’s elbow tightly, begging without words that she stop talking. Remi holds her breath and lets Cassandra do damage control. “It’s true! The Inquisition seeks only to end this madness before it is too late!”

The marching the follows Cassandra’s words drowns out all other sound. Remi’s rage and frustration turns to panic. This is the first time in nearly 20 years she will face a group of Templars head on, for Rivain never had any. There is no telling how many will know her and her betrayal. She watches the group of them with wide eyes, heart hammering in her chest as she looks at but doesn’t see each face.

And then one of the Templars punches the Chantry mother, and Remi’s trance breaks.

“Still yourself.” The greasiest man soothes. “She is beneath us.”

Remi’s rage resurfaces with each passing second. Yes, she may hate the Chantry, but all that woman had were words. Templars have fists and lyrium induced strength, special training and weapons. They came with the promise of protection, and all they did was abuse.

That’s what they’d done to Remington, too.

“So Templars beat old women now? Why am I not surprised. Does it get you off, old man? Nothing gets your dick up like watching old women get hit!” Remi taunts, throwing her arms out to her sides and taking a step forward. The crowd scatters before her like frightened fish.

“Only a deserter would be so soft as to cringe when a Chantry woman is hit.” The greasy man says, turning and beginning to walk off the platform.

Cassandra steps around her, expression urgent. “Lord Seeker Lucius,” she implores, “it is imperative that we speak with-“

“You will not address me.” The Lord Seeker states, not even sparing Cassandra a glance. Remi’s rage only grows at Cassandra’s genuine confusion. This is all Templars and any associated with them had ever been. Self-absorbed, entitled assholes. “Creating a heretical movement, raising up a puppet as Andraste’s prophet. You should be ashamed.”

Remi’s blood boils in her veins. She wishes she knew how to throw knives, because she’d stick her whole set right in his face before her could take another breath.

“You should all be ashamed! The Templars failed no one when they left the Chantry to purge the mages! You are the ones who have failed! You who’d leash our righteous swords with doubt and fear! If you came to appeal to the Chantry, you are too late. The only destiny here that demands respect is mine.”

“Then you can take your destiny and your ‘righteous swords’ and fuck right off, buddy!” Remi snarls back, hands shaking with the urge to hit him. “Go die in the forest of lyrium poisoning before I snap your fucking neck!”

“You are a child.” Lucius responds, his tone set with a kind of finality. The Templar he soothed only moments before approaches him, expression uneasy.

“But Lord Seeker… what if she really was sent by the Maker? What if-“

Another Templar cuts him off, beginning to nudge him away. The last thing Remi needs is more Templars lurking around Haven, but that man will be eaten alive if he doesn’t get out.

“I will make the Templar Order a power that stands alone against the Void. We deserve recognition. Independence! You have shown me nothing. And the Inquisition… less than nothing. Templars! Val Royeaux is unworthy of our protection! We march!”

They turn and begin to march away, and Remi jumps on her last chance.

“If you have doubts in your Order, they are well placed! I’ve seen what it really is, what you really serve! You know where I am if your doubts grow strong enough!” She calls after them, crossing her arms over her chest and exhaling heavily.

Varric and Solas both join them as the Templars leave.

“Charming fellow, isn’t he?” Varric asks, standing beside Remi and patting the side of her leg once more. All she does is exhale sharply in response, angry fingers drumming against the leather on her arms.

“Has Lord Seeker Lucius gone mad?” Cassandra seems to be reeling, her accent thick in bewilderment.

Remi scoffs before she answers. “Doesn’t really matter now. Fortunately, the Templars aren’t our only hope.”

“I wouldn’t write them off so quickly. There must be those in the order who see what he’s become.”

“And if they see it, they’ll come to us. I told them they could. If they don’t have the will to leave something they know is wrong, I don’t want them.” Remi responds, ignoring Cassandra’s affronted look.

The party takes a moment to breathe, and Cassandra shares her knowledge of the Lord Seeker with Solas and Varric. Remi wanders away as they do so, making connections with a few merchants before deciding to head back to her group. Orlesian merchants are very different from Rivaini merchants. As she makes her way back to her group, an arrow sticks into the ground at her feet. She squeaks gently and looks up where it came from, but no one is there.

Cassandra appears beside her, shield drawn and angled to protect.

“What’s that?! An arrow with a message?”

Remi stoops to pick it up, stepping away from Cassandra to catch the sunlight. A smile grows as she reads the letter. “This has fixed my entire day.”

“Let me see!” Cassandra exclaims, snatching the letter when Remi hands it to her. She skims it, brows furrowing in confusion. “A scavenger hunt? We do not have time for this! These ‘Friends of Red Jenny’ sound like a trap.”

“Trust me, whoever this is is serious. I’ve dealt with Jennies before. You shouldn’t fuck with them, or you’ll lose everything you’ve ever worked for in a matter of hours.”

“Sounds like Wicked Grace.” Varric helpfully adds.

Cassandra attempts to protest once more, but Remi waves it away. “No, Cass. I’ve been forced to ‘negotiate’ with both the Chantry and some shitty Templars today. I’m going to go look for these things whether you want me to or not. The docks are the closest place right now, let’s head there.”

They awkwardly make to step around the downed Chantry mother, but she calls attention to herself when she addresses Cassandra.

“This victory must please you greatly, Seeker Cassandra.”

“We came here only to speak with the mothers.” Cassandra sasses back. “This was not our doing, but yours.”

“And you had no part in forcing our hand? Do not delude yourself. Now we have been shown up by our own Templars, in front of everyone. And my fellow clerics have scattered to the wind, along with their convictions.” She stops then, turning her eyes to Remi. “Just tell me one thing: If you do not believe you are the Maker’s chosen, then what are you?”

Remi sighs, squatting in front of the Chantry mother and tilting her head. “Listen. Your Templars were going to fuck you over one way or another. The only thing Cassandra being here did was give the Lord Seeker a reason to act out. And your cleric friends? Of course they’ve scattered. There’s a hole in the sky.”

“You did not answer my question.” The mother presses.

She scrubs the side of her face with her knuckles before answering. “I’m just someone who can help close the Breach and end this madness.”

The Chantry mother takes a deep breath, the pensive look that had been on her face giving way to one of relief. “That is… more comforting than you might imagine. I suppose it is out of our hands now. We shall all see what the Maker plans in the days to come.”

Remi gives her a small smile before she stands and begins to walk toward the docks. Religion is still not something Remi is comfortable with, but it is ever-present. The fearful take comfort in it, while the feared abuse it. That is how it has always been, and that is how it will continue to be.

Her face lights up at the sight of the first red handkerchief, sifting through the cloth until a note and a key fall out. She hands the note to the ever nosy Cassandra and tucks the key into one of her many pockets. It might come in handy later. Her companions make small talk as she leads them to the restaurant area, all four grateful the chantry mothers have moved elsewhere.

Remi spots the next one under a table, and pulls the note from this one as well. Her excitement increases as she pieces together a mystery like the novels she and Cassandra would read when they were younger. The other woman barely refrains from snatching the note from Remi, pulling out the first to compare them.

“We will have to climb some stairs next. Will your legs survive it, Remi?” Solas asks, and Remi turns to him as her jaw drops.

“Solas, I have never been so offended in my entire life. I think I’ll need to lie down.”

“I am a proficient healer, should you require it.”

“You’re a little bitch is what you are.”

Varric laughs at the two of them, and Cassandra scoffs in response.

“Come,” she urges, “if we’re going to partake in this silly scavenger hunt, we need to get moving.”

They climb a number of stairs before exiting onto a balcony, and Remi grins when she finds the final handkerchief- which actually turns out to be a sock. She snickers quietly to herself at the misspelling on the note, but she doesn’t verbalize it. Chances are whoever wrote this is an uneducated servant risking their skin for her, and she’s eternally grateful for them.

“We have a number of hours before we have to meet whoever this is. Does anyone want to do anything?” Remi asks her party, taking the notes and tucking them into the pocket that has the key.

“I think a messenger was trying to get your attention by the main gate before you sprinted up the stairs.” Varric provides, a teasing grin already spreading on his face. “I’m sure we can go find him.”

“My goal was to avoid him altogether, actually.”

“Rosemarie, if he has a message for you, we should at least receive it.”

Remi sighs, and her shoulders slump. “But he was a fancy Orlesian messenger, and I _hate_ Orlesians.”

None of her companions will budge, so they make their way back to the gate. Sure enough, there the messenger stands. He delivers a message from one Vivienne de Fer, and Remi wants to roll over and die. She doesn’t like the looks of this at all, but she has a feeling she’ll be forced to go nonetheless.

-

Forced to go she is, while her companions get to follow up with the Red Jenny mystery. The entire salon is stuffy and gross, filled with entitled bastards and stiff nobles. Remi had gotten to slip into her merchant’s mask, charming the people she met with false promises and empty words.

Madame de Fer had been an entirely different story, one that had made Remi sick to her stomach. The internalized hatred had been so very prominent in her. No mage should accept nor genuinely _enjoy_ the way the circles treated them. Yet Vivienne had bragged about how she leads the remaining loyal mages of Thedas, and she wanted to offer their services.

Remi had no choice but to accept, really. The Inquisition needed all the help it could get.

Now she lies on one of the beds in the townhouse Josephine had miraculously secured for them, stewing in her contempt of Orlesians while fighting sleep. It’s a losing battle until the partially open door of the room is kicked open, and in its wake stands an elven woman with a terrible haircut.

“You’re kind of plain, really.” She opens with, and a grin spreads across Remi’s face. Plain is exactly what she wants to be, what she misses being. “I mean, it’s all good, innit? The important thing is: you glow? You’re the Herald thingy?”

Remi stifles a laugh, especially when Cassandra and Solas enter the room looking beyond annoyed. Varric is simply grinning as he watches the exchange. “Unfortunately, yes. I glow.”

“Name’s Sera. I steal breeches and make noble stiffs pay. Who’re you?”

“I’m Remi. My hand glows and I fish sometimes?” It comes off as more of a question, but Sera seems to approve.

“Good. Good. You’re a strange one. I’d like to join.”

Remi shrugs. “Okay.”

“Aha! Yes!”

Cassandra’s jaw drops in shock, brows furrowing. “Rosemarie, are you not even going to question her?”

“Nope.” Remi answers, fingers drumming on the bed. “Red Jennies are a good bunch of people. I’d rather have them with us than against us.”

“Yes!” Sera exclaims for a second time. “Get in good before you’re too big to like. That’ll keep your breeches where they should be.” She pauses again, surveys the room, and then grins. “Anyway, Haven. See you there, Herald. This will be grand.”

The remaining four rush to the window Sera leaps out of, watching in varying degrees of shock as she makes her way out of the small courtyard and into the street. Eventually they turn away, all glancing at one another.

“I think I’m in love.” Remi states in a matter of fact tone. Varric laughs out loud and thumps his fist on her back before making his way from the room and shaking his head. Solas can only stare in disappointment, and Remi sticks her tongue out in response. “Don’t worry, Egghead. I don’t do love anymore. I’ll remain untainted for a while longer.”

Solas seems satisfied and leaves, though Cassandra lingers a moment longer.

“Was the salon all right?” She asks, looking Remi over for any signs of discomfort. “I know how much you hate formal events.”

“It was fine, Cassandra. Someone almost died, people tried to both murder and seduce me, and I met way more loyalist mages than I’d have liked. But they had nice bread, so it wasn’t terrible.”

Cassandra laughs softly, expression almost fond. “That was how Delphina managed to get you to any of those parties.”

“Don’t forget the wine we stole.” Remi adds. “Getting drunk with you and Remi was always something I adored.”

They both quiet at the mention of his name, especially now that Remi isn’t using it to refer to herself.

“Rosemarie, where is Remi?”

The silence stretches long between them, and Remi can feel tears pushing at the corners of her eyes. The bottom of her vision blurs, but she blinks it away.

“Do you really want to know?” She asks, and moves to the bed at Cassandra’s nod. They both take a seat on the end, and Remi stares into the fire. She ignores Cassandra’s steady gaze on her.

“After you joined the Seekers,” Remi begins, “I drowned myself in my Templar training.”

“You said you’d been having doubts!” Cassandra half exclaims, but Remi waves her away.

“You’d been one of the only reasons I’d had doubts, Cass. With everything I had planned, being a Templar would just complicate things. But then my plans fell apart, and there was nothing keeping me home anymore. So I worked my ass off until I became a real Templar. I was put in Ostwick’s circle, and everything was good. I was protecting Remi, I’d kind of met a girl, it was nice.”

She pauses to lick her lips, moving her gaze from the fire to her shaking fingers. No one else knew the whole story.

“Remi and I were 19. They kept rescheduling his harrowing, and it was making him nervous. All the mages his age had had theirs by now, and those who hadn’t had been made tranquil. I kept telling him it was coming, kept asking my captain when it was. Finally, it was time, and he was so prepared. Remi was a good mage, Cassandra. He knew what he was doing. So tell me why-“

Her throat closes suddenly, and a small sob forces its way out of her throat. Cassandra grasps her hand, lacing their fingers as best she can with her gauntlet. “You don’t have to continue. I can piece it together from there.” She says, but Remi shakes her head violently.

“No. No, you can’t.” Remi shudders as the images flood her brain, memories she’s long since put in a box spilling onto the floor. The mark spasms in the hand Cassandra holds. “When a mage has their harrowing, they thrash and moan and shudder. Remi did all those things. If the thrashing becomes jerking, the mage is possessed. If the thrashing lessens before eventually stopping, the mage has passed. Remi stopped thrashing.”

Cassandra gasps audibly, and Remi turns to watch her eyes grow wide in realization. “He passed.” She breathes, and Remi sobs once more.

“They wrongfully cut him down and claimed it a test of faith for me. To prove I was faithful to Andraste, they purged the world and me of my impure mage brother. They killed him, Cassandra. My own Order _murdered_ my brother and called it _faith_.”

Cassandra holds Remi close to her as she cries, though the angle is awkward with Cassandra’s armor. Remi appreciates it nonetheless, watching her tears disappear into the cotton shirt Cassandra wears beneath it. She pulls away to wipe her remaining tears, offering Cassandra a watery smile as the Seeker wipes tears of her own.

“This is why I didn’t want to talk about him at Haven.” Remi whispers, her accent thickening as she fights around the emotions in her throat.

“And why my attempt at apology was so poorly received.” Cassandra adds, her own accent just as thick. In the back of her mind, Remi finds it attractive. She always had. “I’m so sorry, Rose. I should have done something.”

“No- Cass, it’s not your fault-“

“I was a Seeker! I should have-“

Remi cuts Cassandra off this time, placing a calloused hand over her mouth. “No. Okay? No. You’re not at fault. I already blame myself, and my mother would kill us both is we both started blaming ourselves.”

Cassandra pulls Remi’s hand from her mouth, cradling it within her own. “It’s not your fault any more than it is mine, Rose. You couldn’t have prevented it.” When Remi opens her mouth to protest, Cassandra shakes her head. “You were doing what a Templar should have done. _Protecting_ mages. You were a good Templar. And you’re a good _woman_ , Rose. It’s not your fault.”

Remi closes her eyes and leans forward, resting her forehead against Cassandra’s armored shoulder as she exhales. “I’ll try to believe you, Cass.”

“That’s all I can ask of you.”

They sit in that position for a while, hands clasped and heads on shoulders. In the aftermath of her emotions and the heat of the fire, accompanied by a long missed presence, Remi begins to dose. Cassandra chooses that moment to softly nudge her, whispering that she should leave.

“Right.” Remi says, rubbing the drying tears from her eyes. “Of course.”

“Goodnight, Rose.” Cassandra whispers as she leaves, blowing out the few lit candles as Remi tucks herself into the large bed. The fireplace illuminates Cassandra’s silhouette when she pauses at the door and turns back, but she ultimately closes it. Remi curls around one of the larger pillows on the bed, closing her eyes and breathing a small sigh.

Her eyes shoot open after only a moment, mind reeling with too many thoughts.

Cassandra had called her _Rose_. It’d been decades since she’d heard her name on Cassandra’s tongue.

Remi squeezes her eyes shut. She is so horribly fucked.

* * *

 

_Mother,_

_We just returned from Val Royeaux. I hadn’t thought I’d ever go back there, yet I went around the entirety of the city in a short amount of time. It was different without Remi. He wasn’t here to make fun of everyone with me._

_Maybe he was here with me in spirit. I’ll tell you, those Orlesian nobles were testing me. I also almost fought some Templars, which was pleasant. They punched an old Chantry lady._

_~~Cassandra called me Rose. She held me while I cried and~~ I told Cassandra about Remi. She hadn’t known before, and she’d tried to ask me about him a few times. She deserved to know, though. He was her family too. You’ll be unsurprised to find out that she blames herself as well. I told her not to, as you’d gladly come all the way here just to kill her for it. She told me I can’t blame myself in return, so I suppose I’ll have to ~~keep it more of a secret now~~ attempt to get better._

_Please keep the family safe for me. Templars are getting more and more aggressive, and there’s something wrong with the ones in the south. Keep Marina hidden._

_-All my love, Your Rose_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think i'm like a week late on my tentative uploading schedule so I feel TERRIBLE but i have been roped into anthem and i cant get out. that stupid game took my heart and was like YEET and i'm not happy. stupid bioware.  
> anyway, i actually wrote this chapter a two weeks ago, but i wasn't happy with it so i was like "oh i'll just come back to this later it'll be fine" except i didn't come back to it when i wanted to and when i did i HATED IT so i changed everything and now remi had comfort secks with ritts which is probably not good but oh well.  
> for all wondering, herah and remi aren't together. she's not cheating on herah (she doesn't do love). i'm trying to form this kind of friendship/sisterhood that is built on their unbreakable trust and respect for one another, and i'm sure it'll make more sense as i slowly but surely dive into remi's whole backstory.  
> at least i hope so.  
> finally, does anyone think i should do chapter's from other peoples' points of view? and if so, who?


	6. Ben-Hassrath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So you’re with the Inquisition, huh? Glad you could make it. Come on, have a seat. Drinks are coming.”  
> “Oh, no thank you. But hello! You’re the Iron Bull, I presume?”

_Rose,_

_We’ve found a teacher for Marina, and she is positively thrilled. I wish I could be the one to teach her, but she lives so very far away. The other noble houses are unaware of my special status as well- which I suppose I should be thankful for. Your father is no longer lucid enough to protect me, though I never needed him to. But don’t tell him that._

_Speaking of you father: he misses you dearly. In his few moments of clarity, he asks for you. He claims he needs to “hand your ass to you” for running off to become a fisherman. He’s hung your drawing beside our bed._

_Burgess and Nathaniel are both worried about you, as I’m sure their letters have made clear. And I know you are not fond of Emil, but he has asked of you in passing. He believes himself sly, but a mother always knows._

_And Rose, I know what day is coming up. I know how you get, as well. I’m hoping you really will accept that it is not your fault, but I know blaming yourself is easier than accepting that you did your best. If you need her, Cassandra is there. Whether or not you like that fact is an entirely different story, but it is a fact nonetheless. You both lost him, my love. Don’t let yourself grieve alone._

_-All my love, Delphina_

* * *

 

Returning to Haven is far more relieving than Remi ever thought it could be.

They’re greeted reverently, refugees reaching out in an attempt to touch any part of her as she guides her into the makeshift stables. This part is far less relieving. She dismounts once the soldiers have corralled the people away from her, though they disperse on their own after she quotes something of the Chant and claims her work is in Andraste’s name. Once their backs are turns she rubs her cold fingertips down her cheeks and ignores the bitter taste in her mouth.

“You okay over there?” Varric asks, still in the process of dismounting his own horse. Remi half shrugs in response.

“Yeah. I just hate pretending to believe in something I don’t.”

“Come.” Cassandra cuts in, laying a gentle hand on Remi’s elbow to guide her. “We need to inform the others of what happened.”

Remi waves over her shoulder to Varric and Solas, who both wave back with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Cassandra guides her through the gate then, and she drops her hand. Remi misses the pressure as her head spins, though she doesn’t say anything of it.

“I’m sorry if I offended you, Cass. I know how deeply you believe.”

“It’s all right, actually. I won’t fault you for your disbelief, Rosemarie. Not after what you’ve been through.”

Ah, so Rose was gone then. That was how it should be, Remi supposes. She was no longer being openly vulnerable, so there was no reason for Cassandra to attempt to soothe her.

The pair pass Arthur on their way to the Chantry, who lights up at the sight of Remi. A tired smile spreads on her face as he jogs over and slaps her shoulder.

“Funny meeting you here, oh Herald my Herald.”

“Ugh,” Remi groans, “don’t tell me they’ve corrupted you, too.”

“Not on your life, chosen one.” He seems to finally notice Cassandra after he speaks, face losing a bit of its color at the sight of her. Remi snickers to herself as he salutes stiffly. “Seeker Pentaghast! I… did not see you there.”

Cassandra fights a smile, though she somehow manages to remain serious. “We have urgent business to attend to, and the Herald can speak with you later. Return to your duties.”

“At once, Seeker Pentaghast.” Sufficiently dismissed, Arthur jogs back to the logs he’d been moving with his nonexistent tail between his legs. Remi snorts another laugh, turning to Cassandra with a grin.

“That was hilarious.”

“We’d better hurry.” Is all she says in reply, though the smile she’d been fighting finally worms its way to the corners of her mouth. They push the doors of the Chantry open minutes later, and are met nearly at the door by Cullen, Josephine, and Leliana.

They’re so fucked.

“It’s good you’ve returned.” Josephine says as she approaches them. “We heard of your encounter.”

“You heard?” Cassandra inquires, eyebrows trying to rise into her hairline. Of course they’d heard. Leliana’s agents probably told them about it.

“My agents in the city sent word ahead, of course.” Would you look at that, Remi was right.

Cullen crosses his arms and comes to stand before them, one of his hips cocked. “It’s a shame the Templars have abandoned their senses as well as the capital.”

“It sucks to suck, I guess. At least we know how to approach the mages and Templars now.” Remi offers, shrugging her shoulders when she mentions the Templars. As if she’d willingly recruit them.

They continue to move forward, the advisors moving to walk beside and behind them as Cassandra voices her concern. “Do we? Lord Seeker Lucius is not the man I remember.”

“True.” Leliana jumps in. “He has taken the Order somewhere, but to do what? My reports have been… very odd.” Remi shrugs in response, perfectly content to simply go get the mages.

“I’ll rephrase, then. The _sane_ Templars know how to approach _us_ , and we know how to approach the rebel mages. Tada.”

“No, no. We must look into it. I’m certain not everyone in the Order will support the Lord Seeker.” Cullen states, completely disregarding the fact that Remi had _just said_ the sane Templars could come to them. She wasn’t about to go somewhere with lots of Templars and lyrium. Fuck that.

“Or the Herald could simply go meet the mages in Redcliffe, instead.” Josephine responds kindly, and Remi finds herself nodding. That sounds like a wonderful idea.

“You think the mage rebellion is more united? It could be ten times worse!” Cullen argues back.

Remi sighs to herself, scrubbing a hand down her face as she prepares to use her grown-up voice.

“You need to choose, and choose wisely. My opinion may not matter in who we go to meet, but oh fucking well. I’m not going to sit here while you argue like children over who you want me to fetch.”

“Who _is_ it that you would choose to support, Lady Trevelyan?” Leliana asks, and Cassandra bristles beside her. Clearly, the Seeker already knows.

“I’d go get the mages.” Remi says, and she waves away the shocked look plastered across Cullens’s face. “I watched the man I’d have to negotiate with take pleasure in one of his subordinates punching an elderly woman. Who was literally doing nothing but insulting me, might I add. Should you choose to recruit the Templars, I won’t go. So as I said, choose wisely.”

Cullen uncrosses his arms and looks utterly defeated. Remi can’t help but feel bad for him, and she is grateful she never let herself become as invested in the Order as he clearly was. “Regardless of your personal feelings on the matter, I’m not certain we have enough influence to approach the Order safely.” It’s a good thing the mages actually invited her to speak with them, then.

“Then the Inquisition needs agents in more places.” Cassandra decides, and her eyes turn to Remi. She smirks softly when Remi’s face falls. “That’s something you can help with.”

“In the meantime, we should consider other options.” Josephine offers, and that seems to be the end of the conversation. Cullen, Cassandra, and Josephine all move in their own directions, though Leliana continues to watch Remi closely.

Desperate to escape, Remi turns as though to leave, only for Leliana’s hand to light upon her shoulder. Remi fights the urge to jump. That woman moves silently enough that it’s no wonder she holds the position she does.

“There is one other matter.” She states, and Remi totally doesn’t whine. “Several months ago, the Grey Wardens of Ferelden vanished. I sent word to those in Orlais, but they have also disappeared. Ordinarily I wouldn’t even consider the idea they’re involved in all this, but the timing is… curious.”

“That… really doesn’t bode well for us.”

“The others have disregarder my suspicion, but I cannot ignore it. Two days ago, my agents in the Hinterlands heard news of a Grey Warden by the name of Blackwall. If you have the opportunity, please seek him out. Perhaps he can put my mind at ease.”

Remi truly hopes he does, but she doesn’t count on it. Grey Wardens have never been good news, that much she is sure of. She nods a farewell to Leliana and turns to leave the Chantry, stopping when a throat clears to her right.

Vivienne.

All Remi wants is to eat something warm. Is this so much to ask?

“I met an elven mage earlier. Solas, I believe he was called. I admit, I was surprised. I didn’t expect to find mages among the Inquisition. Tell me: why were you at the Divine Conclave?”

Remi sighs on the inside. She’s surprised it’s taken this long for someone to ask her, but she’s not surprised the person to ask is Vivienne. She needs to think of some kind of half-truth, because masters of the Game can almost always spot a lie.

“This war is hurting innocents.” She settles for. “It needs to end.” Approval nearly radiates from Vivienne’s face, and Remi tries not to get flustered. She may not like her, but the approval of a powerful woman has always made her bashful.

“If only the rebels saw things so clearly.”

Ah. There goes that bashfulness. “The Templars are also at fault.”

“Justinia’s death has shattered the balance of power in Thedas. If it not restored quickly, countless lives will be lost. Mages, Templars, innocent people of all kinds now look to the Inquisition to decide their fate.” Vivienne seems to brush her off, but Remi catches the small acknowledgment that the Templars are at fault.

“We shouldn’t let them down then, yeah?”

“For almost a thousand years,” Vivienne continues, “the world believed it was in the hands of the Maker. And now many believe you are the agent of his will. Whatever the truth is, that belief gives you power.”

Remi knows the Game. She dealt with countless Orlesians in Rivain, and she knows that this was just a backhanded way of asking her what she’ll do with the power she’s been unwilling bestowed. Her honest answer? She’ll use it to build a world where brothers don’t get taken from their sisters. A world where nieces aren’t hidden from the world. But the response she gives Vivienne?

“I suppose you’re right.”

Clearly unsatisfied, Vivienne dismisses her. Remi has to restrain herself from running, but the second she throws the doors of the Chantry open, she lets herself jog. She doesn’t make it very far as she collides with someone who’d been waiting outside of the Chantry. They’re both knocked from their feet, each spouting profanities in different languages.

“Shit!” Remi exclaims once her shock has subsided, because she just knocked whoever this person is to the ground. She scrambles to her feet and offers them a hand. “I’m so sorry! Are you all right?”

They take her hand and let her pull them to their feet, and they dust the snow from their legs. “I’m all right, yes. Are you?”

Remi ignores the blush that’s slowly spread to her cheeks. She’s not only just knocked a complete stranger to the ground, but this complete stranger has a very nice voice. “Yes! Yes, I’m fine.”

“Great. I actually have something I need help with, if you’re willing.” The stranger says, and their grin is enrapturing. With a smile like that, Remi can only nod. “I’ve got a message for the Inquisition, but I’m having a hard time getting anyone to talk to me.”

“I can take your message.” She says without thinking, but then coughs into her hand. “Actually, could you tell me who you are? Cassandra will have my hide if I help more potentially dangerous people.”

“Cremisius Aclassi, with the Bull’s Chargers mercenary company. We mostly work out of Orlais and Nevarra.” Remi nods to herself, though she’s still not entirely sure who this person really is. He seems nice enough, and Remi has to remind herself not to get distracted again. She’s supposed to be a professional. “We got word of some Tevinter mercenaries gathering out on the Storm Coast. My company commander, Iron Bull, offers the information free of charge. If you’d like to see what the Bull’s Chargers can do for the Inquisition, meet us there and watch us work.”

That would explain why no one here would listen to him. A Tevinter with a business proposition doesn’t usually go over well in the south. Good thing Remi is from about as north as it gets.

“I look forward to meeting this Iron Bull.”

“We’re the best you’ll find. Come to the Storm Coast, and you can see us in action.” Remi waves to Cremisius as he turns to leave, and she tries to bury her not so friendly thoughts. There are many types of action she’d like to see him in. Well, maybe. Attraction is so confusing.

-

“I swear on my life, if you two don’t stop arguing, I will push you both into the sea.” Remi angrily exclaims, throwing one of her extra boots at the pair arguing under the tarp. Sera jumps away from it and sticks out her tongue.

“He started it!”

“I did no such thing.”

“ _Enough!”_ Cassandra shouts, drenched and thoroughly pissed. “Sera, get in your tent. The same for you, Solas. If you want to act like children, you will be treated as such.”

They both grumble to themselves as they climb into their respective tents. Remi sighs and scoots closer to the fire, grateful for the newfound peace. Cassandra moves to sit beside her, and they huddle closer than they usually would in search of warmth.

“Why did we have to come all the way out here again?” Cassandra asks her, and Remi sighs. They could have gone to the Hinterlands first, but she selfishly wished for the sea. Maybe, if she looked hard enough, she could see Rivain. Maybe Herah would see her, and come scoop her up to take her home. But these were childish wants, and Remi was too ashamed to voice them.

“I wanted to meet that mercenary company before they moved on.”

Cassandra seems satisfied with the reply, and they both sit quietly as they listen to the sound of the rain. Scouts buzz around them like worker bees. Their camp may be established, but the territory is unknown.

Remi’s mind wanders to the fact she's been trying to ignore for the past week. Tomorrow is _the_ day. Tomorrow marks 18 years since she’d truly lost Remi, since she’d truly been alone. She can’t help but be disgusted with herself. 18 years after his death and here she sits, wearing his name like a mask. What kind of monster was she, to pretend to be him? She could never be him. She could never-

_Don’t let yourself grieve alone._

Remi doesn’t turn to Cassandra like she wants to. She doesn’t reach for her hand like she wants to, because Cassandra doesn’t want that anymore. But she’ll still lean on her metaphorically, at least.

“Tomorrow marks 18 years that Remi has been gone.” She whispers between the two of them, and Cassandra jerks. Her eyes are bleary when Remi turns to look at her, and she realizes with a small amount of guilt that the woman had been about to fall asleep. She shouldn’t have said anything.

“Oh.” Is all Cassandra says, face pinching as her expression fights between grief and sympathy.

“It’s okay.” Remi whispers. “You can grieve, too. You never got to say goodbye to him.”

“Neither did you.”

They both fall silent again, and Remi keeps flicking her gaze from Cassandra’s eyes, to her shoulders, to the fire.

“Is there anything I can do?” Cassandra whispers, brows furrowing as she leans a little closer. Remi isn’t sure if it’s the cold, but she’s suddenly hyperaware of the color on Cassandra’s cheeks. “You mentioned that you don’t sleep well alone. If I could- I mean- if you’d like me to-“

“Only if you’re comfortable.” Remi cuts her off, hoping no one noticed Cassandra’s rising voice. The Seeker nods stiffly, and they awkwardly stand to head towards Remi’s tent. It’s a struggle to get into the tent without bumping into each other, as this one is far smaller than the ones they shared in the Hinterlands. Finally, they’re both crouching inside, neither sure what to do.

“Um.” One of them whispers, though neither are really sure who. In the dimming candlelight Remi watches Cassandra reach to rub her head – a nervous gesture that is all too familiar – but the light also lets her see Cassandra lose her balance, and they both tumble to Remi’s bedroll in a heap.

Cassandra’s face is far too close to Remi’s own, and this time she knows it’s a blush on the other woman’s cheeks. Awkward throat clearing ensues as they disentangle, and they sit as far from each other as possible.

“On second thought, maybe you shouldn’t sleep in here. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Rose.” Cassandra soothes, and Remi’s heart skips a beat. “I wouldn’t have agreed if I didn’t want to do this.”

Oh.

 _Oh_.

There’s a lot more maneuvering than Remi thought was possible to get their respective armor off, and when it’s piled on the side of the tent, it takes up a good portion of the space available. They climb into Remi’s one-person bedroll together, stiff limbs unsure where to rest, what to touch.

After what feels like ages, they settle into a position Remi knows all too well, but she hasn’t felt in so long. She’s been the smaller one for the last 15 years. Herah is nearly eight feet tall, and Remi is nowhere near her height. But Cassandra is smaller than her, has always been. They lie facing each other, as they’d done when they were young, but they possess the closeness from their later summers. Cassandra’s head lies on her arm, cold nose tucked against her neck, and her arms around Remi’s waist. She seems to melt into the position, and Remi blushes profusely as she places her other arm over the woman pressed against her.

Years have gone by. Painful, heartbroken years. And somehow, someway, Cassandra was back in her arms. Remi has to remind herself that _this_ isn’t _that_. Cassandra doesn’t love her. She never loved her. She’s providing a comfort for a familiar person just as much as she’s seeking it as they both grieve.

That doesn’t stop Rose from feeling impossibly light as she falls asleep.

-

_“My harrowing is today.”_

_It’s a passed whisper in the darkened halls, and Rosemarie spins to face her brother. His hands are stuffed deep in the pockets of his robes, face nervous but a smile present._

_“That’s great! How do you think you’ll do?”_

_“I’m not sure.” One of Rosemarie’s fellow Templars passes, and the twins wave at him. A red-haired mage tails him, and she smiles at Rosemarie. Once they’re rounded the corner, Remington continues. “I’ve had all of these years to prepare, but now I’m not so sure.”_

_Rosemarie grins at him, crossing her arms and leaning against the wall. “You’ll do fine, Remi. I know you will.”_

_“How do you know?”_

_Rosemarie startles, hands coming to rest on the sword that sits on her hip. That wasn’t what he was supposed to say._

_“I just know you, Remi. You’ll do fine.” She looks at him, really looks at him, and her heart stops._

_Blood paints the front of his robes, spilling from a multitude of stab wounds in his chest. The brown color in his eyes has faded to a milky white that seems to stare through her. His entire body shakes, flames dripping from his fingertips as ice slowly spreads from the soles of his feet._

_“Do you know me, Remi?” The corpse of her brother asks, addressing her by the nickname she’d stolen from him. She stumbles away from him, drawing the sword that’d been strapped to her hip. But the sword fades to dust in her hand._

_Remington’s corpse advances on her, flaming fingers reaching out to grab her. Her feet move but her body doesn’t, and Remington’s hands close around her throat._

_“Let me test your faith, Rose. Let me, let me, let me…”_

Thunder rumbles around them as Remi finally forces herself awake. Tears slide from the corners of her eyes and her throat closes on the sobs that threaten to push from her. She moves to hug herself and instead meets Cassandra’s shoulders, who exhales and presses closer to Remi’s side. Remi tries not to think about the dream, tries not to think about the demon who had been impersonating him. She instead focuses on the distant crash of the waves on the shore. She focuses on the rise and fall of her Cassandra’s chest against her, the fingers curled in the loose cotton of her shirt. Remi tries not to think about the old fires relighting inside her.

She’d much rather face another demon than the thoughts inside her head.

-

The rain lightens as the dragon roars. Exhilaration rolls like last night’s thunder in Remi’s veins, and she can’t help but smile as she watches the beast’s silhouette amongst the storm clouds. Somewhere down the beach, something much smaller roars in response. Sera guffaws behind her, and their party rounds the large cliff to find the mercenary company they’d come to locate. They draw their weapons, and they charge.

Remi spots horns in the midst of the battle, and they’re connected to one of the largest Tal-Vashoth she’s ever seen. Iron Bull really does fit him, and she’s pleased he picked a new name for himself. By the Void, just seeing a Tal-Vashoth slightly brightens her dreary day. He’s not Herah, but he’s as close as she’ll ever get in the south.

The battle ends and she situates her (totally not stolen) brand new war ax on her back, and smiles happily as she approaches the Iron Bull.

“So you’re with the Inquisition, huh? Glad you could make it. Come on, have a seat. Drinks are coming.”

Iron Bull’s voice is very deep and rumbly, and it makes her smile even more. She’ll always like Herah’s voice better, though.

“Oh, no thank you. But hello! You’re the Iron Bull, I presume?”

They move to a spot where Iron Bull can sit, and Remi fights a laugh. She knows the I’m-not-super-tall-and-scary move anywhere, as she’s had to do it a number of times. Make yourself smaller so the smaller people view you as less of a threat. His ankle is also in some kind of metal brace, she notices belatedly.

“I assume you remember Cremisius Aclasssi, my lieutenant.” Iron Bull says as he gestures towards the other man, and oh, she remembers him all right.

“Good to see you again.” He addresses her before turning his gaze back to his commander. “Throatcutters are done, Chief.”

“Already? Have ‘em check again. I don’t want any of those Tevinter bastards getting away. No offense, Krem.”

Remi smiles as they exchange jabs. She’d known there were other Tal-Vashoth, but it still pleased her to see them have friends and family.

“So… you’ve seen us fight. We’re expensive, but we’re worth it… and I’m sure the Inquisition can afford us.” Iron Bull says to her once Krem walks away, and Remi nods her affirmative. With the recent influx of noble support (thank you, House Trevelyan) they certainly can afford them.

“The Chargers seem like an excellent company.” Remi compliments, and she means it. She can hear them exchanging quips and teases further down the beach, and she can’t help but swell with pride. Iron Bull has done so well for himself.

“They are. But you’re not just getting the boys. You’re getting me. You need a frontline bodyguard, I’m your man. Whatever it is- demons, dragons? The bigger the better.” Remi can’t help but laugh.

“Cass won’t like you taking her spot.”

Iron Bull stands then, walking past her and gazing at the sea dramatically for a moment. Remi sighs to herself. Why are all of these people so dramatic? “And there’s one other thing. Might be useful, might piss you off. Ever heard of the Ben-Hassrath?”

Remi can feel her soul leave her body. She hasn’t heard that title since Herah’s nightmares stopped. But maybe he’s just warning her to be on the lookout for them. “Yes. They’re like spies.” But they’re not. They’re bounty hunters and murderers and torturers. She hates them.

“Yeah, that’s them. Well, us.”

Bile gathers in her mouth as she spins on the ball of her foot, walking as fast as she can back to her party. She’d thought he was a Tal-Vashoth, that’s how well he played the part. She knew a real Tal-Vashoth- had lived with her for nearly 17 years. This was the role he’d been given. He was a liar, and a cheat, and a spy. She couldn’t.

Cassandra catches her upper arm, concern written across her face. “Rose? What is it? You look sick.”

“I’m not negotiating with that… that _thing_ , Cassandra. If you want to recruit them, go for it. But I _won’t_.”

Cassandra ends up recruiting the Bull’s Chargers. Remi won’t look at their commander, keeping her back turned at all times to hide her face. Instead she has Sera teach her how to better throw her little knife set, intent on ignoring the hulking man who has joined their little camp.

Hatred coils hot in her body every time she hears his voice. Rage washes like fire through her veins, and it’s reflected in each knife she throws. She’s oddly proficient at it, and for that she’s grateful. Because if Hissard, as she knows they’re called, so much as _tries_ to kill them, she won’t hesitate to plant a knife right in his good eye.

Currently they wait for one of their scouts to finish crafting the Mercy’s Crest she needs to fight the leader of the group who’d killed her men. On any other day she’d have charged in and killed them all, but Solas was her much needed voice of reason. She likes him more now, now that they have a shared hatred – Solas’ is more civilized dislike – of their camp’s resident Qunari. Sera has absolutely no problem with him, and she’s been trading inappropriate jokes with him for the past few hours.

And Cassandra just seems concerned for Remi’s mental health. It’d be easier to believe her concern was genuine if she hadn’t let the Bull’s Chargers join them, but this isn’t a perfect world.

“It’s done!” The scout shouts, and Remi pockets her knives. She’s the first to reach the scout and takes the Crest from him, slipping it over her head before anyone can protest. That doesn’t stop them from trying. However, she simply ignores them, securing her ax to her back and heading in the direction of the bandit camp.

Her original party – and Iron Bull, unfortunately – grab their weapons and scramble after her. Solas sticks closer to her side than usual, keeping the map dry with magic and helping to lead. Cassandra walks awkwardly behind them, and Sera and Bull bring up the rear. Aside from the two at the end poking fun at each other, and the sound of nature around them, all is silent.

Finally, they reach the gate of the bandit camp. Remi makes sure Mercy’s Crest is on full display as she walks confidently toward the door, drawing a small amount of satisfaction from the shock on the guards’ faces.

“Someone’s come with a challenge?”

“The others failed.”

She pushes the door open with no reservations, already drawing her ax.

“So you would challenge the Blades of Hessarian?” The largest man within the camp asks, and Remi rolls her shoulders. Somewhere behind her, Cassandra expresses concern.

“You killed soldiers of the Inquisition. I won’t let this stand.”

“You want justice?” The leader taunts, drawing his one handed ax. “Claim it.” He makes some attempt at a war cry as he raises his weapon, but Remi has already driven the serrated edge of her own weapon into his skull. His head makes a squelching noise as she tugs her ax free, and he falls to the ground in an undignified heap. The bandits who had been moving to open the cages of their marbaris stop in their tracks.

“Anybody else?” Remi taunts, aware that the dead man’s blood is sprayed across her face. She can taste it in her mouth, and in some sickening way it soothes the rage that’d been boiling within her. “Would anybody else like me to slaughter them like a fish? No? Smart.”

One of the bandits approaches her with a cloth. “Your Worship.” He says as he offers it to her, and disgust slowly takes the place of her anger. She wipes her face clean of blood, frowning as the rain bleeds the white cloth pink. “The Blades of Hessarian are at your service. If you want eyes on the coast, here we are.”

“Great. Thank you. I’ll have people by to collect any reports you have.”

Remi gives the bandits she passes a smile and heads back through the gate. Her party and Iron Bull follow behind her. It’s easy to ignore them all in favor of the sounds of the ocean. She puts the recent happenings from her head and pretends they never happened; pretends she didn’t just acquire a cult for the Inquisition.

Waves crash loudly on the shore as thunder rolls over the mountains, and Remi wonders how long it’d take her to swim home. She almost considers it, stripping from her armor and diving in, but an earth shattering screech makes that decision for her. Her group breaks the tree line, and the rage and disgust are replaced by awe.

A high dragon fighting a giant. A high dragon _fighting_ a giant.

The south may not have spices, but the south sure is spicy.

“Okay, now that’s badass!”

“We can stay and watch, yeah?”

Remi chooses to ignore Iron Bull and Sera, instead turning to watch Cassandra watch the dragon with wide eyes. She can’t even bring herself to smile.

Remi – the real Remi – would have loved to be here. It could have been like when they were children and they played Dragon Hunter. Before Remi came into his magic. Before Emil sent him away. Her heart aches in her chest as she turns away from Cassandra, the sound of the ocean and the crackle of lightning drowning out the cheers and comments about the fight.

It would be so easy to dive into the sea. Maybe the current would sweep her under and all of this would be over. It would be fitting, to die the same day her brother did. She already wears his name; stealing his death day would only be the next step.

The beating of the dragon’s wings as it takes flight drag Remi from her thoughts. She focuses back in and makes immediate eye contact with Iron Bull. He watches her without words, single eye taking in the lines of her face. She turns from him quickly, fingers moving to drum against her thighs.

“We should head back. We’ve done all we need to here.”

-

Remi doesn’t like being back in the hinterlands. She hates that Cassandra deemed it a good idea to depart from the group and head back to Haven. But there are recruits to train, and Cullen is slowly being overwhelmed. Someone also had to lead the Chargers back to Haven.

At least Solas is still on her side about not liking the Iron Bull. Sera is a lost cause, but Remi won’t fault her for it. Qunari are fascinating if one has never seen one before. Otherwise, they’re really only good for warm hugs and reaching the top shelf.

“We’re here to retrieve a Grey Warden?” Solas asks from where he walks beside her, using his staff to nudge small animals out of their way. Remi snorts at the distaste in his voice.

“We’re also here to kill a bunch of Templars and mages, probably. And recruit other mages as well. Don’t tell anyone else, though.”

Solas glances over his shoulder at the laughing pair behind them and sighs. “They would not take kindly to that.” He pauses for a moment and considers her from the corner of his eye. “You intend to recruit the mages?”

“Of course? The mages wanted freedom, not war. They’re more likely to work with us instead of fighting us.”

“Then why have they been killing the little people, hm? You’re gonna let murderers join?” Remi sighs gently at Sera’s – admittedly accurate – remark, and smirks when Solas does the same.

“Look,” Remi begins, spinning on her heel to face the duo behind her as she keeps walking backwards. “We’re all murderers here. I’ve seen each of you kill at least five people, and you’ve seen me do the same. Difference is we haven’t been imprisoned for most of our lives because we were born different. They’re all lost, and some of them have probably been driven to the point of insanity. The Templars aren’t good peop- fuck!”

Sera snickers when Remi’s foot catches on a tree root and she lands hard on her ass.

“Solas, you were supposed to warn me. We’re a team.”

“I don’t recall ever being informed of this.”

She pushes herself to her feet and pointedly ignores Iron Bull, dusting her pants off and shaking a leg just to hear her chainmail jingle.

“That’s what everyone who supports the mage rebellion says.” Iron Bull supplies, ignoring Remi ignoring him and deciding he needs to comment. “Haven’t seen any evidence of it.”

Remi scoffs loudly, finally making eye contact with the hulking man and crossing her arms. “Haven’t you? Why does your tiny peanut brain think this rebellion is happening, then? Hm? The mages want to rebel – put their lives in _even more_ danger – just for shits and giggles? Yeah, some of them are insane. Some of them have murdered people, and they’re going to get murdered back. It’s an endless cycle.”

“Why’s it got you all like his elven glory, hm? No one likes mages.” Sera inquires, popping in between Iron Bull and Remi’s stare down to gather everyone’s attention. “You’re a weird one.”

Desperate to diffuse the situation, Remi forces a smile and shrugs. “Last I’d heard, I was pretty normal.”

“Well now you’re a weridy, so suck it.”

The small group comes across a pond and Remi definitely does not squeal in excitement. She kicks the toe of her boot in the water as they walk beside it, grinning to herself when the small fish scatter.

“Yeah.” Sera comments from as far from the water as she can get. “A weirdy.”

There’s an old house across the pond with a rickety old dock-turned-bridge leading to it. A man in fluffy looking armor instructs people beside the house, and Remi squints at him.

“Where’s his face?”

“I think it’s mostly a beard.” Iron Bull offers, coming to stand on her other side.

“Heh. That’s a huuuuge beard.” Sera sticks her head out from behind Remi and sticks her tongue out In concentration as she focuses.

“This is where that farmer said he’d be.” Solas says. “After you.”

“Oh. Sure. Make me go and probably get eaten by his beard.”

Sera giggles quietly and pushes Remi toward the bridge. “I’m sure he’d love to eat you.

“Sera!” Then Remi pauses, and the blush on her face worsens. “You’ve thought about eating me.”

“Out, maybe.” Iron Bull slides in, snorting when both Sera and Remi makes noises of denial.

“Have not!”

“Focus!” Solas exclaims, slamming the end of his staff onto the wood of the bridge to silence them. “We came here for a reason.”

Remi clears her throat and take a super discreet step away from Iron Bull, pretending she hadn’t just been joking with the enemy and instead speeding across the bridge toward the beardy man.

“Blackwall?” She calls as she approaches him, drumming her fingers on her thighs. “Warden Blackwall?”

He turns almost wildly, eyes wide and vaguely panicked. “You’re not- how do you know my name? Who sent-“ The beardy man who has identified himself as Blackwall shouts as he raises his shield and an arrow slams directly through it, the point slices a small cut into her cheek. Remi swears in Riviani and jerks away from him.

“So much for a front line body guard, yeah?!” She shouts to Iron Bull, who only readies his large ax in response. Near the bridge their party had just crossed, a bandit screams and runs at them.

“That’s it.” Blackwall states sternly. “Help or get out. We’re dealing with these idiots first!”

Remi throws one of her knives over his shoulder and into the forehead of a bandit who had been attempting to sneak up on his conscripts. “Way ahead of you, Beardy!” She celebrates her success at actually managing to fatally land her knife in someone as she drives her ax into someone else. Solas fires spells from behind her and Sera shouts from somewhere else. Bull works in a kind of rhythm, and Blackwall works more on defending his conscripts than fighting.

They make short work of the bandits as a team, and when it’s all over there are no casualties amongst the conscripts. The men admittedly look a little shaky, and are clutching their swords and shields too tight, but they’re alive. Blackwall sends them home and Remi sticks her ax into the dirt as she approaches him.

“You’re no farmer.” He accuses, and Remi resists the urge to tell him that she kind of is. “Why do you know my name? Who are you?”

“I’m here investigating Grey Wardens for the inquisition. We’re seeing if their disappearance has anything to do with the murder of the Divine.”

“Maker’s balls, the Wardens and the Divine? That can’t- no, you’re asking, so you don’t really know. First off, I didn’t know they’d disappeared. But we do that, right?” Blackwall defends the Wardens and himself, but Remi isn’t buying it. She’s worked with people like this before, and it sounds like he’s grasping at straws. “No Warden killed the Divine. Our purpose isn’t political.”

Remi puckers her lips as her eyebrows furrow and drums her fingers on her thigh. “Sooooo where are the rest of you?”

“I haven’t seen any Wardens for months. I travel alone, recruiting. Not much interest because the Archdemon is a decade dead, and no need to conscript because there’s no Blight coming.” Remi nods as Blackwall finishes his sentence, but her shoulders drop as he continues praising the Grey Wardens. Behind her, she can hear Solas sigh. “Treaties give Wardens the right to take what we need. Who we need. These idiots forced this fight, so I ‘conscripted’ their victims.”

Remi doesn’t know Blackwall, and he doesn’t know her, so she refrains from whining when he keeps talking. She’s itching to head back to their camp, write a letter to Leliana that Blackwall was completely useless, and come back up to the pond to fish.

“They had to do what I said, so I told them to stand. Next time they won’t need me. Grey Wardens can inspire, make you better than you think you are.”

After a few moments of silence, Remi hesitantly steps forward. “Are you… done?”

“Am I- yes. I am.”

“Okay then.” Remi slaps the chainmail that hangs over her thighs, delighting when it jingles. “It’s been a pleasure, Warden Blackwall, but this didn’t help at all. Have a great rest of your day!”

She picks up her ax and sticks it back in its sling, then moves to retrieve the knife she’d thrown from the dead body. Sera jumps down from the top of the old house and startles a small noise out of Remi.

“Ha! You should’ve seen your face.”

“How did you even get up there?!”

“I don know.”

“Inquisition… agent, did you say? Hold a moment.” Blackwall calls after them, and Remi turns to him.

“Actually, I didn’t say, but sure. Whatcha need?”

“The Divine is dead, and the sky is torn. Events like these, thinking we’re absent is almost as bad as thinking we’re involved. If you’re trying to put things right, maybe you need a Warden. Maybe you need me.” Blackwall’s face is hopeful, and Remi isn’t sure what to do. As one person, he can’t do much. But she’s never been good at denying people things, especially things they think they need.

Cassandra _did_ say she wanted Remi to recruit more people.

“Warden Blackwall, the Inquisition accepts your offer.”

“Good to hear.” Blackwall smiles, and Remi can’t help but smile back. “We both need to know what’s going on, and perhaps I’ve been keeping to myself for too long. This Warden walks with the Inquisition.”

The walk to camp is a little awkward, but Remi is still content to write Leliana’s letter and then speed back to the pond with her fishing pole. She sits on the edge of the bridge over the deepest part of the pond and smiles to herself. She ignores the bodies being picked at by crows on the other shore, instead focusing on the rising of the moon above her and the dropping of the temperature. It gives her pleasure to be so utterly alone. No one saw her when she left camp, and there are no bandits currently in the area. They’d made sure about that.

But then one of the boards on the bridge creeks, and Remi freezes. One hand comes to rest on her biggest knife as she looks over her shoulder, but all she ends up doing is rolling her eyes and turning back around.

The Iron Bull.

 Remi doesn’t turn to look at him, and she doesn’t release the knife she’s holding inside her coat. Her entire body stiffens when Iron Bull sits beside her, but she’s minutely grateful for the decent amount of distance he leaves between them.

Please don’t speak. Please don’t speak, please do not-

“You’ve got a history with the Ben-Hassrath.”

This is absolute bullshit.

“Really? What would give you that idea?” Remi’s tone is patronizing and she knows it. A peaceful fishing trip has gone to complete shit.

Bull hunches over and watches the silhouettes of the fish in the water. “Just a guess.” A few moments of silence pass before he continues. “Most people aren’t fond of spies; you know? I get that. S’why I don’t tell people very often.”

“Great. So why tell us, hm? Why not use us for whatever purpose the Qun deems worthy and then kill the threats? Or do you think we’d trust you more because you’re upfront about it?”

“Your spymaster would have found me out.” Iron Bull’s answer is honest enough that it draws a bitter laugh from Remi’s throat.

“Keeping secrets from her is… very difficult.”

The mark sputters in her palm and gives away the rage that had been coiling inside of her. She sneers at it and clutches her fishing pole tighter.

“What’d the Ben-Hassrath do to you? You’ve got a valid reason for hating them.” Remi can’t tell if Iron Bull is purposely separating himself from his people or not. When she turns to look at him, he’s still watching the water.

She won’t tell him about Herah. She’d rather die than tell him about Herah.

“I’ve had more than enough run in’s with your people. You’ve always been hostile, regardless of circumstance. I have taken _so many_ of your lives because you won’t get the hint that you don’t need to come back.”

Iron Bull is quiet for a few minutes as Remi reels in the small fish she’d caught. It’s too small to eat, so she throws it back. “You’re involved with a Tal-Vashoth.”

“Sure,” Remi snorts, “that’s one way to put it.” Of course nothing would get by him. But he doesn’t need to know all of it.

“And the Ben-Hassrath came for them more than once? A mage, then.”

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.

“I think this conversation is over. Thank you so much for ruining my time to fish, Iron Bull. Have a terrible night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i typed most of this while watching jenna teach her dog to sit on hard floor, so if it's bad it's because I was super distracted  
> also, if I get one more pop up ad on this computer, I am going to yeet myself into the sun. i'm angery
> 
> also also, i'm sorry this is late. some of it has been proofread and the rest hasn't, so tell me if you find anything I should fix. I hope you enjoy


	7. Children of War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Ganging up on an old feeble man. The audacity.”  
> “Whine about your old age later, Varric. We’ve got horses to secure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly thank you all so much for the support on this it means a lot to me

They have to wait half a week for Varric to get there.

Sera left with Blackwall, claiming she was still soggy and wanted to dry her clothes. Solas and Iron Bull wanted to move, to try and maybe find the Horsemaster, but Remi denied it every time. Their party _has_ to be an even number. When Varric finally does get there, it’s nearly midday and Remi is itching to move. The mark hasn’t eaten since before they left Val Royeaux, and she can feel the first thrums of its hunger dancing in her veins.

“Songbird! Long time no- oh. You have a new friend.”

“Correction. Cassandra has a new friend.”

Varric makes a face and lowers his voice, stooping to be closer to her face. “What’d he do to you?”

“Nothing yet.” She laughs, rolling her eyes with a smile. “I’m just not a fan of the Ben-Hassrath.”

Varric sits in front of her, leaning on his knees to sort of block the rest of the camp out. “Cassandra made friends with a spy? Why doesn’t that surprise me?” He takes a moment to exhale as a fond smile spreads across his face. “Can I ask why, though? Why you don’t like him? My understanding is we don’t have much to worry about until the Qunari swarm our shores.”

Should she? They’ve been travelling in close quarters for the better part of almost two months. Varric has been the only person who has really treated her like a person instead of a Herald of Andraste. Granted, he may not have held her while she mourned her long dead brother, but Cassandra doesn’t count.

Anyway.

Varric is a good man. He’s clearly grown attached to her, and Remi isn’t afraid to admit that she trusts him. She glances around the camp, making a show of being overly cautious, and sighs. Iron Bull and Solas are arguing on the other side of camp, and the scouts that usually have been buzzing around them are all huddled around the requisitions she’d recently filled. There’s really nothing stopping her.

“This better not end up in that book you’re writing.”

“Me? Write a book about you? I’d never.”

“Mhm. Sure.” She smirks at him and he waves her on. “My best friend is an escaped Qunari mage.”

The look of shock that ripples across Varric’s face is gone in an instant, replaced quickly with understanding. “That… explains a lot of it, actually.”

“She and I lived as kind-of-nomads for a good two years. She’s a powerful pyromancer, so the Qun wasn’t thrilled to see her go. They sent-“ Remi pauses, running her tongue over her lips as she remembers the number of people she had to kill. They’d all been so dead set on killing Herah. The two of them had had to kill them first. “They sent a lot of people. And I know in the Qun that feelings aren’t encouraged.”

“Ah, Songbird…” Varric’s voice is filled with sympathy.

“But they were still _people_ , Varric. I know they don’t have families like we do, but it still messed with my head. I killed so many of them.”

“You don’t want to kill anymore.” Voice lowered to a whisper, Varric places a comforting hand on her knee. Iron Bull and Solas have stopped arguing. “I get it. You’re better than most of us, Songbird.”

Remi pauses as their other two companions move closer, sucking in a breath and hanging her head against her chest. “He has feelings, Varric. I’ve had to see them with my own eyes. People having feelings makes killing them harder.”

“We’re ready to move out, Remi.” It’s Solas, nudging Remi’s lower back with the end of his staff. “We have Templars to hunt down.”

“And mages.” Iron Bull offers from his place a few feet away.

“Maybe.”

Ah. So that’s what they’d been arguing about.

Remi pushes herself to her feet and offers Varric a hand. His face is still sympathetic, but she waves him away. They both know Iron Bull’s insistence on hunting down the mages does nothing to ease her distaste of him, but there isn’t anything they can do to fix that. Many people are set in their ways, especially when they’ve been raised in those ways. Remi is eternally grateful her family had always been so open-minded.

Well, most of them.

“C’mon kiddos. The scouts found a path across this little pond that will lead down to the West Road. We’re less likely to have to deal with a lot of stragglers before finding the encampments.”

Iron Bull scoffs from behind her, kicking a little water around as he wades through it. “Kiddos? You’re probably the youngest one here.”

“Oh?” Remi doesn’t mind a chance to prove him wrong. “How old are you, the Iron Bull?”

“35.”

“And I’ll be 38 come spring, so suck my ass.”

“I think he would, given the chance.” Solas butts in, jumping from one of the rocks on the mountain’s side and landing gracefully.

“I’d take her to dinner first.”

Varric snorts from his position in the back before ‘accidentally’ hitting Iron Bull with Bianca. “That’s no way to talk about our fearless leader.”

“HA! You should’ve seen her when a spider crawled into her tent last night.”

Remi’s jaw drops as she turns on Iron Bull, a finger pointed at him in accusation. “You bitch! That was supposed to be between us!”

“Songbird, you’re afraid of spiders and didn’t even bother telling me?”

“Varric, I swear to whatever god you believe in…”

“Careful there, Fearless Leader. He might throw a spider at you.”

Remi’s move to yell at Iron Bull is cut short when Solas, who is failing miserably at hiding the amusement on his face, shushes them.

“We’ve got Templars ahead. Six of them, from the looks of it.”

Remi peers around the rock her party has congregated behind, and she spots them with ease. Two archers, three single swordsmen, and one who has a typical shield. She can’t help but sigh, this was almost going to be too easy. Varric slinks up the rock they’ve hidden behind for a better vantage point as he loads a bolt into Bianca.

“You guys ready?”

The cool ease of Solas’ barrier slides over their skin, and the three men who accompany her nod.

“Go.”

Iron Bull makes a show of running out, taunting the Templars loudly as he charges straight for the Templar with the shield. All six of their enemies are startled by his sudden appearance. The archers and one of the swordsmen recover quickest, and the ones who don’t are easily picked off by Varric and Solas. Remi charges the swordsmen head on. They swing their weapons at the same time, and his sword catches in the serrated edge of her ax. She disarms him with a twirl of her ax and frowns.

_Why is this so easy?_

She spins on her heel and slices clean through the midsection of one of the archers. Solas dances around her and towards Iron Bull, who is getting increasingly frustrated with the lack of headway he’s making around his opponent’s shield. But his opponent won’t raise their sword, focused solely on defense.

_Something isn’t right._

Just as Remi is moving to assist him, an enraged scream comes from somewhere behind her. She turns around in enough time to brace herself for the charging Templar. She recovers enough to see the Templar raise their sword and begin to bring it down, only to have it knocked out of their hand by a bolt from Varric. Seemingly undeterred, they raise their shield and prepare to bring it down. Panic filling her to the brim, Remi rolls as far as she can to the side with the Templar straddling her, and ends up pinning her arm against her side.

Mere moments feel like hours as she fumbles for one of the knives tucked in the belt of her armor. She rolls to the other side and out of the way of the shield. Her arm freed, she throws her arm out haphazardly and catches the Templar under their helmet, slicing through the barely exposed skin of their neck. The Templar gurgles on their own blood as a bolt pierces their helmet.

All is silent, save for the sound of her own labored breathing.

Remi’s mind races at a mile a minute. The Templar’s blood has splattered across her face, her chest, and it reeks of lyrium. She begins to panic and wrestles the Templars body off of her. The speed of her heart works to catch up with that of her thoughts, and Remi can feel herself hyperventilating. That Templar had recently taken lyrium; it was coursing through their blood. And now their blood was all over her.

What if it was in her mouth?

Her hands shake as she abandons her weapon and dives for the stream to her right. The water is frigid as she scrubs her tongue and teeth. She’s terrified of swallowing, of letting any lyrium into her body. She scrubs the blood from her armor, hands shaking so violently she almost misses. It’s only when a heavy hand lands on her shoulder that she stops.

“You okay, Remi?”

She’s not. Her jaw works as she tries to find some way to reassure, or maybe even apologize for completely abandoning the fight. Iron Bull slowly turns her to face him, touch gentle and movements slow. Varric and Solas stand on either side of him.

_She can still smell it._

“I’m fine.”

“You’re shaking like a leaf, Songbird. Are you sure you’re fine?”

Remi’s gaze flickers to Solas, and he watches her with veiled concern. Iron Bull’s hands are warm, but he smells like lyrium blood too. She shuffles away.

“I’m okay. Or I will be. But we need to keep moving.”

When Remi climbs to her feet, she is horribly disoriented. She’s not sure which way the Templar who had tackled her had come from, and she’s not sure where her weapons are. All she knows is that everything _smells_.

Iron Bull casually wipes her knife on his pants while dipping the blade of her ax into the stream. When both are free of blood, he hands them back to her. He’s careful about getting any more blood on her weapons, and Remi feels gratitude pool in the pit of her stomach. It bothers her that he noticed it was the blood that was setting her off, but she lets that dribble away into nothingness. 

“The Templar encampment is up the hill those two Templars came down.” Varric says, gesturing toward the tents that sit atop a small hill beside the stream. Remi nods and tucks her knife back into its spot on her belt. When they’re making their way passed the Templars’ bodies, Remi holds her breath. She doesn’t want to smell it.

The encampment is meant to be defensible, but there are no people standing guard. They enter carefully, taking out another two archers that had been coming their way with two bolts from Varric and an ice spell from Solas. Now that the smell of lyrium has slowly begun to fade, Remi thinks about how easy this is again. It shouldn’t be this easy.

Three more swordsmen are dispatched easily, and the large Templar with a greatsword that they find guarding the camp’s supplies is only a little more difficult. Her three companions sweep the camp for more Templars as Remi scurries to the waterfall near the back of the camp and once more scrubs herself clean of lyrium tainted blood.

Just as she’s finishing, a flash of light in the dying sun catches her attention. She pulls a small box out of the earth and pops it opening, humming in surprise when she pulls the belt from inside. It breathes ice along her fingertips, causing her to drop it back into the box in surprise. Solas would probably like these.

She wanders back toward her companions who have gathered near the camp’s supplies. They’re speaking in low voices, and the conversation ends when she reaches them.

They probably want to know why she freaked out.

Fuck.

“I found fancy magic stuff under that waterfall. I figured you’d like to look at it, Solas.”

The mage makes a noise of appreciation, taking the box from her and popping it open. “Oh my.” He murmurs, running one of his fingers along the belt inside.

“Hey, Songbird?” Varric calls her attention, and Solas snaps the box closed. Uh oh. “You wanna talk about what happened back there?”

She doesn’t, especially not with Iron Bull here, but she clearly can’t hide it from them. Iron Bull already knows it was the blood, he just doesn’t know why. Maybe she can stall.

“The sun is going down. We should probably try making camp so we don’t run into any trouble.”

“We were thinking about camping here until scouts arrived to really comb the place.” Iron Bull provides, and Remi feels her heart drop. “We don’t want any Templars taking the place back if we move on.”

Right. That’s the logical option. That makes the most sense.

That doesn’t mean she’s okay to sleep in this camp where there might be lyrium.

“Of course. Smart thinking.”

Iron Bull and Varric head back outside of the camp to retrieve their dropped packs as Solas starts a fire. He turns to her once it’s crackled to life, sympathy written in the lines of his face. “We won’t judge you, Remi.” She can’t help but laugh. Solas is one of the most judgmental people she’s ever met. But when she looks at him, and sees the way he watches her, she finds she might believe him.

The other men return, but Remi won’t meet their eyes. Not when they start making conversation, not when the smell of whatever they’re cooking begins to cover up the smell of the wilderness, and not when she can feel their eyes on her.

Finally, after they’ve all eaten and the sun has long since set, does she offer any kind of explanation.

“I’m sure you all have heard the rumors that I was a Templar before all of this happened.” She knows that Iron Bull hadn’t, just as she knows there were no actual rumors. Solas and Varric only knew because Cassandra had told them.

“You don’t like killing other Templars?” Iron Bull asks, playing off that he didn’t know with ease.

Remi’s hands shake again as she remembers the blood that had been on her face, maybe even in her mouth. “No. Most Templars are horrible people, and they deserve to die.” She drums her fingers on her legs, missing the jingle of her chainmail. “Templars use lyrium; that’s what binds them up. Let’s the Chantry use them. When you leave the order, you can either find a lyrium supplier to feed your addiction, or you can quit.”

Solas’ eyes widen in realization. As a mage, he would have been able to smell the lyrium too.

“Did it get in your mouth?” He asks her, and Varric’s eyes widen at the implication. Iron Bull remains solid, though he regards her in a new light.

“I don’t know.” Remi answers in a small voice, running her frigid fingertips over her lips. She didn’t taste any, but the smell had been so overwhelming.

They disperse soon after, Varric taking the first watch as the rest of them crawl into their tents. They’re all reluctant to use the many tents the Templars had set up for themselves, so they sleep two to their own tents. Solas faces away from Remi in their shared tent, and she can hear Iron Bull snoring loudly in the one he’ll share with Varric. Aside from that noise, and the noise of Varric cleaning Bianca, and the weird bugs that stay out even in the cold, everything is silent.

And Remi hates it.

When she finally falls asleep, it’s restless and filled with nightmares. The nightmares are feverish and tinted lyrium blue, horrid enough that when Remi finally jerks awake she’s in tears. She sobs quietly in the now empty tent, hoping that Solas won’t hear her outside, and if he does, he won’t say anything.

Something from her nightmares sticks in her head as she calms herself, and an itch grows in the back of her head. The Templars in her nightmare had fallen at her hand easily, nonstop. It makes her think of their fights earlier, and with a new sense of panic, she pulls on her boots.

Solas’ head snaps in her direction when she comes near tumbling from their tent, concern tightening his features in the firelight when she pushes herself unsteadily to her feet. “Remi?” He asks hesitantly, and Iron Bull’s snoring ceases in the other tent.

She ignores them both, instead turning to sprint in the direction of the stream. They’d left the bodies of the Templars near the edge of the stream to distract any animal looking for its next meal and to draw the attention of the Inquisition scouts. Remi hopes no animal has come to make the bodies their snack, and she is relieved they haven’t.

But a cold sense of dread fills her as she nears them.

In the light of the moons and the stars, Remi kneels by the smallest Templar, the one she’d sliced through earlier that day. The small hands that had clawed at her in her nightmares push to the forefront of her mind, and she holds her breath.

The helmet comes off, and Remi’s heart breaks.

A child.

She’d killed a _child._

The enraged scream from earlier makes more sense now.

The ease with which they’d killed most of them makes sense now.

The lack of offense makes sense now.

She pulls more helmets off, tears beginning to blur her vision, the mark crackling loudly in response to her emotions.

Children in armor, fighting a war their parents had started. Remi can’t breathe. She stumbles away and into Solas, who pulls her clawing hands away from her throat. He sinks with her to the ground and restrains her from hurting herself, but Remi barely has the strength to fight him. She’d killed a _child_.

That could’ve been her. The Templar she’d slit the throat of, the one who’d come to avenge the child. That could’ve been her. _Would’ve_ been her, had she never lost her brother. Protect the innocent, that was her goal. Instead, she’d murdered a child.

Maybe she shouldn’t have charged head on. Maybe she should have tried to negotiate with them. Maybe they would have joined the Inquisition, given their children a better life. Maybe maybe _maybe_.

Maybe didn’t matter now, did it?

Iron Bull hoists her into his arms, and she’s not sure when he’d joined them. Somewhere, she can hear Solas and Varric speaking in low voices. Iron Bull’s heartbeat is loud in her ear, and it makes her think about just how alive he is. What if she has to kill him too?

Exhaustion catches her before tears do. She’s never been more grateful of anything.

-

They set out just after dawn when the scouts arrive. They continue travelling west, past the bodies and the broken bridge. They kill a few wolves, find a dead carta dwarf, stop for a snack, and reach Redcliffe Farms before noon.

None of the men she travels with have brought up what happened the night before.

She’s grateful for that, content to pretend it never happened, instead locking it deep inside her mind to never touch again. Varric had commented, when she woke a second time the night before in a cold sweat, that her tactic of mulling feelings wouldn’t work well out here. That wouldn’t stop her.

The weight of Remi’s discovery has them hesitant to approach anyone, but that hesitancy quickly dissipates when the mark in Remi’s hand crackles. All heads turn in her direction, concern radiating off of her companions in waves, but Remi zeroes in on the rift half-hidden behind a large tree ahead of them. The mark urges her forward, desperate to feed.

She charges it, drawing her ax and cutting the legs right off of a terror that pushes itself from the ground. Iron Bull, finally having caught on, comes whooping into battle beside her. Solas and Varric pick off the wraiths that stray too far toward the farms. One attempt to close the rift doesn’t work, and more demons pour through. The party handles them in the same fashion as the first set, and Remi finally snaps the rift closed.

Iron Bull watches her in a disturbed kind of awe, and Remi offers him a smile as she shakes the mark out.

“What? You never seen someone close a hole in the sky with their fancy green hand hole?”

Iron Bull smiles at her, his eyes uncertain when her voice lacks its usual undertone of distaste.

“Oh, sure. Saw it all the time on merc jobs.”

She snorts and shakes her head, moving to root around in the remnants of the rift with the toe of her boot. She finds a ring that crackles with electricity when she touches it, and she can’t help but snort.

“Hey, Solas!” She calls, and the mage looks up in just enough time to catch the ring she’d tossed. “You want more fancy magic stuff I just found lying around?”

“When are you going to start finding fancy stuff for me and Tiny here, hm, Songbird?”

Remi tilts her head to watch Varric, leaning against her ax with a smirk. “The Iron Bull, do you want fancy magic jewelry I find lying around?”

“You bet your ass I don’t.”

Varric makes a face at the two of them. “Ganging up on an old feeble man. The audacity.”

“Whine about your old age later, Varric. We’ve got horses to secure.”

They meander up to what looks to be Dennet’s house, and Remi grows excited. Hopefully he’ll give them horses, and she’ll be able to ride a horse _meant_ for hard riding. Not the poor old thing Cassandra had been trying to convince her to use. The door to Dennet’s house opens as a woman walks out, and Remi stutters to a stop.

“Um…” she begins uncertainly. “Hi? Is Master Dennet in?”

The woman turns to them, an eyebrow raised and her face sternly set. She doesn’t answer until her eyes have taken Remi and each of her companions in, and she stops for a long period of time on the badge Remi wears. “You’re the Inquisition, then? My husband’s inside; go on in.” She moves into the garden, though she doesn’t turn her back to them.

“After you, Fearless Leader.” Iron Bull comments from where he stands casually behind Varric. They’re all a little on edge after the night before, and the lack of people around the farms is setting them off.

“Thanks, bud.”

Remi nudges the door open awkwardly. She feels like she’s breaking into Dennet’s house even after his wife had told her to go inside. The door creaks as it opens, and Remi can’t keep herself from wincing. Her companions crowd around her to peer inside, and Remi fights a grin that tries to spread when they hover around her like children. A head appears from around one of the walls.

“Hi.” She offers sheepishly, giving a shy wave as the man who she presumes to be Dennet walks over and plants himself in a chair near the door.

“So you’re the Inquisition, eh? Hear you’re trying to bring order back. It’s high time someone did.” When they make no move to enter, Dennet beckons to them as though they’re shy children. They come to stand in front of him, and he finally gets a good look at them. “Didn’t expect it to be some Free Marches noble, though.”

Oh.

Dennet seems to not really care, brushing passed his own comment as though he never made it. “Name’s Dennet. I served Arl Eamon for thirty years as horsemaster. I hear your Inquisition is looking for mounts.”

“That’s correct. Is there any chance you could help us out?” If Remi wasn’t so against horses travelling at sea, she’d have asked her family already.

“I can, but I can’t just send a hundred of the finest horses in Ferelden down the road like you’d send a letter. Every bandit between here and Haven would be on them like flies on crap.” Dennet finally gets around to making his request, though it’s more of a demand. “You’ll have mounts once I know they won’t end up as a cold winter’s breakfast. My wife Elaina manages the farms, and Bron’s in charge of my guards. They’ll tell you what they need.”

“Thank you, sir.”

But he’s not done, slapping a hand on his knee with his next statement. “Until then, _you_ deserve something better than whatever knock-kneed plow nag they gave you. The chestnut over there is a purebred Ferelden forder. Take care of him, and he’ll take care of you, Inquisition.”

Remi and her party meander back out of the house and into the garden that Elaina had disappeared into. They find her tending to what look to be pumpkins, and Remi can’t help but smile. Her mother made a beautiful pumpkin pie.

“I heard what my man said.” Elaina begins before all four of them have completely entered her garden. “If you want our horses, then we need our farmers back safe in their fields. Since the Breach appeared, the wolves have gone mad. They come after our men like beasts with the water sickness. You deal with the wolves, and our farmers will be safe again.”

This woman is straight to the point, and Remi likes that about her. “How are these wolves acting differently from normal?” She asks, drumming her fingers on her chainmail.

“Normal wolves go after livestock, but come at them with a torch and a blade and they run. _These_ beasts though, it’s like darkspawn during the Blight. Or when the dead rose to attack us. They’re possessed, or something like it. I’ve lost too many men to the beasts. I won’t endanger more.”

Remi can tell with ease that the people of Redcliffe farms care for their people and their animals, and it fills her with a sense of relief. At least some parts of the world haven’t gone mad. “Farewell.” Remi bids, giving Elaina a respectful nod before she turns to leave.

“Good day to you.”

The four of them depart with few words. They wander further down the road in a heavy silence, each still troubled by the previous night. Remi glances into a building on her left and comes to a halt at the sight of the numerous swords that hang from the walls. Dennet had said Bron was in charge of the guards, and guards usually carry weapons.

“Are you Bron?” Remi calls.

At the sound of his name he turns to face her, a sword he’d been working on still resting across his palms.

“That’d be me. What can I do for you?”

Remi drums her fingers on her chainmail once more. “We’re agents of the Inquisition. Dennet said you had something we could help with..?”

Bron lights up, turning to place the sword on a work table and grabbing a rolled sheet of paper. “If those refugees are going to defend themselves, they’ll need real defenses. I’ve got a few ideas.”

“Lay ‘em on me.” Remi grins, moving to one of Bron’s many workbenches where he spreads what happens to be a map. Her companions crowd behind her to see.

“There are too many hills in these parts, good places for raiders and bandits to gather.” Bron runs his finger along the many hills and mountains drawn onto the map, pressing it into three X’s scattered around the map. “I’ve marked good spots on the map. You set up watchtowers there, I’ll talk to the master and get your people weapons.”

“Thank you so much. We’ll get right on it. In the meantime, is there anywhere we can set up a camp? An Inquisition presence in the area may deter raiders and bandits from attacking your farms.” Remi rolls the map and slips it into the satchel she carries, working the strap between her fingers when she’s done.

Bron nods, pointing to yet another map plastered on his wall. “Over by the little pond would be a good place. You’re visible if someone decides to enter the farmland.”

“Great,” Remi smiles, “we’ll see you later.”

Her companions shuffle out ahead of her and Remi breathes a sigh of relief. While Solas seemed to know what personal space was, Iron Bull and Varric did not. She only trusted one of them to be that close to her. They throw their packs down once they’ve reached the pond and send out a bird for the scouts to come further set up the camp. The second she sits down, she pops back up, excitement written clear across her face.

“Dennet said he had a horse for me.”

“How very observant, Remi.”

“Shut up, Solas. Let me be excited.”

She leaves the pond area and her companions behind as she makes her way toward the large stables. No one attempts to follow her up there, but a glance over her shoulder reveals they’re all watching her. She turns back around with a sigh and walks through the stable’s gate.

Remi and the horse spot each other at the same time, and Remi can feel her face nearly split in a grin. He’s a large horse, well fed and well groomed. He’s made of compact muscle that ripples each time her scuffs his hooves. He’s an all-around beautiful horse, and Remi laughs in glee.

She approaches him head on, holding a hand out while fishing one of the apples from her satchel. He ignores her hand and pushes forward to get the apple, snorting once he’s done so.

“Greedy bastard.” Remi whispers fondly, running a hand over the silk of his mane. His ears flick around, and someone clears their throat behind her.

“You like horses, then?”

When Remi turns, her face blooms with heat. The woman who stands in front of her is beautiful. Her hair is cropped short and sun spots decorate her face like stars in the night sky. The light of the barely setting sun makes her nearly glow. Her arms are bare as well, and Remi finds it hard to swallow. Rational thought refuses to make its way into her brain, so nonsense spews from her mouth like a fountain.

“Wow.” The woman before her blushes at her words, and Remi’s blush grows warmer. If she doesn’t do something to fix the situation, she’s almost positive she’ll pass out because of the blood rushing to her head. “I mean, um. Hello. My name is Remi?”

The other woman laughs abashedly, hands clasped in front of her, though she never breaks eye contact. “Hello to you, too. But I asked if you liked horses, not your name.”

“Right! Of course.” Why do pretty girls do this to her? Why couldn’t she just function normally? Who put this curse on her? “Yes. I like horses quite a bit, actually.”

A grin spreads across the other woman’s face. “Great. Name’s Seanna. Fancy trying out one of my courses?”

Remi blinks a few times. “Your what?”

“You know! My courses. Like a horse race.”

“Oh!” Remi already wants to agree. “What kind of race, exactly?”

“I set up a course over there,” Seanna points to her left, and Remi finally notices the strange looking gates that had been set up along the pathways. “with stakes in the ground. It’s too narrow to race directly, so I time it with a sandglass. You try to ride the course before I call time.”

Remi likes this. She _really_ likes this. “You’ve got yourself a racer.”

Seanna’s face lights up with a smile, and she clasps her hands together. “Wonderful! Get your horse, and I’ll set up the stakes. You make time, I’ll throw in some of the dress money Father gave me. Consider it a… _donation_ to the Inquisition.”

“Actually-“ fuck, why’d she do that? It’s been too many years since Remi really tried flirting with anyone, let alone seducing them. Seanna turns to her expectantly, and Remi steels her beating heart. Might as well try. “I was thinking of something a little… different, should I beat your courses.”

Something in her tone must give away what she’s hinting at because Seanna moves closer to her as blush colors her cheeks. “Oh? And what would this something different be, hm?”

“Well,” Remi lowers her voice to a sultry murmur – she hopes – aware that southern women seem to adore the way it thickens her accent. She leans down so their faces are mere inches apart, making the world seem to disappear around them. “What are you doing later? I have a little bit of free time, should you like to spend it with me.”

“I’m not sure, Rem.” Seanna whispers back, eyes flickering to Remi’s lips before moving back to her eyes. “I feel like you have a few courses to beat first.”

Remi grins and takes a step back, letting the cool air sweep away the tension that had been building between them. Seanna seems startled by the sudden distance, but her pupils have blown a small bit. Good. It seems Remi still knows what she’s doing. She opens her mouth to speak, only to notice the scouts dragging a wagon behind them and heading towards their makeshift camp.

“I have to go for now, but I’ll see you later, yes? I’m taking this horse, by the way.” Remi swings herself into the saddle and grins at the height she’s gained. It’s been so long since she’s been on the back of a horse, but a Trevelyan never forgets. She whistles once and the horse gets moving.

“I should really give you a name, yeah?” She drums her fingers along his neck as he trots toward camp. “How about… I mean. Hm. If I named you Shark, would you be mad at me? Probably. What about Lago? That’s Rivaini for Lake.” The horse shows no indication that the name upsets him, so Remi nods to herself. “Lago it is.”

She gets to the small camp just as the scouts do, and she takes great delight when she spots the markers in the back of the cart.

“We have roughly six hours til the sun sets.” Iron Bull says when she slides off of Lago. He hands her her ax, which she takes quickly. “That should be enough time to mark the watchtowers and go after those wolves, yeah?”

“Yeah. We should tackle the towers first and see if we find the wolves as we go about.”

Remi majorly regrets not asking someone about where the wolves are. They spend three hours wandering around the western part of the Hinterlands killing bandits and marking watchtowers, but that’s it. They don’t run into a single wolf, nor do they find any mages. They’re heading back to camp in the dying sun when a scout they pass very helpfully points them in the right direction.

They stop to exchange their current supplies for ones better suited for killing animals, but the mark crackles loudly in Remi’s palm. Her head snaps to the right as the mark’s energy thrums into her brain. She can almost see the rift through the rocks, nestled at the base of a waterfall.

“You okay over there, Songbird?” Varric asks, coming over to stand beside her and look for what she sees. Remi feels almost like a dog, sniffing out rifts wherever they go.

“A rift, and it won’t be a nice one. Be ready.”

Iron Bull hefts his freshly cleaned ax back onto his shoulder and comes to stand beside them. “How do you know?”

Because the mark told her.

Yeah. That would go over well.

“The angrier the mark flares, the worse the rift will be.” Solas offers, and Remi sighs. She’s so grateful he likes to look like he knows everything. The mark is only flaring right now because something is pushing on the rift that shouldn’t be. Remi just wishes she knew _what_.

Remi takes the lead against her better judgment. Iron Bull follows close behind her, and his hands tighten around the handle of his weapon as the temperature drops a few degrees.

“Despair.” Solas whispers, and it’s as if that sets the demon off.

Remi takes a moment longer than she should to survey their opponents, having to roll out of the way when the greater terror that had accompanied the despair demon tries to knock her off her feet. A bolt from Varric lands in its shoulder, and it screams in wounded rage. Remi swings her ax to knock out its knees like she’d done to the terror from earlier that day, but the despair demon blasts her in the back with its ice magic.

“Solas!” She barks, feeling the chill of its magic slowly work its way into her veins. The mark pulses angrily in her palm, and electric waves of heat course through her body to fight it off. Fire rains from above onto the despair demon, setting it aflame as Iron Bull charges it. The ground beneath her swirls with the oncoming terror, and Remi uses the momentum of her ax to pull her away from it. When it spouts from the ground, it makes the mistake of kneeling. She drives her ax into the junction of its shoulder, pulling down until its head comes clean off.

“The rift! Hurry!”

In her own panic, Remi isn’t sure which of her companions calls out to her. She thrusts her hand toward the rift, grasping the flailing tendrils of magic and letting the mark feed. _Something_ pushes her away, knocking her off her feet as more demons push their way through the rift.

Two more despair demons. Two more greater terrors. This could honestly be where she dies.

Iron Bull shouts in pain from her side, and her heart stutters when she sees the jet of ice that one of the despair demons has hit his left shoulder with. She throws herself off the rock she’d been standing on and knocks the demon from the air. Remi drops her ax in favor of a knife and slashes through the demon’s rags in hopes of hitting it. It howls in agony when she slashes through what was probably its face.

“Move!” Solas yells at her, and she rolls away just as he carves a fire mine into the ground and sets the despair demon aflame.

“You wanna help me out too, Chuckles?!” Varric calls from behind a rock where he has been pinned. The other despair demon advances from the other side of the rock, a trail of ice following it. Solas turns to help, fire already dancing from his fingertips to the head of his staff.

Remi turns back to where Iron Bull had been, grabbing her ax and charging the terror that’s closing in on his left side. She swings upwards just as it gets to him and knocks it off its feet and into the water. She only leaves his side to follow it when he nods. The terror is rising to its feet when she lands beside it, and it stops to almost regard her.

The rift pulses above them, and the mark crackles in response. The terror zeroes in on her hand, it’s beady little eyes seeming to double in size. Disgust makes Remi’s very organs quiver as she readjusts her ax.

There is ample opportunity to taunt it as it slinks toward her as though it itself is possessed. Remi can feel a small ball of fear curl in her stomach as she watches its stiff limbs advance on her. And when she finally swings her blade to decapitate it, it doesn’t even try to dodge. She reaches upward as it dissolves in the large stream, grasping the tendrils of magic once more and pulling. This time, nothing pushes her away, and the rift slams closed.

The demon had been watching her.

She’s going to have nightmares tonight.

“Is everyone okay?” She calls, assessing them all for damage. Each of the men she travels with downs a healing potion in response, but those only do so much. The cut above Varric’s eyebrow and the bruise that had been blooming on his chest fade away. The scrapes on Solas and Iron Bull heal quickly, but then Remi’s eyes fall on Iron Bull’s frostbitten shoulder. That hasn’t healed in the slightest. He seems to catch her eyeing it, because he gives her a smug smirk.

“Don’t worry about me, Fearless Leader. I’m just fine.” But he’s not, and Remi can see it in the way he holds his ax.

Solas sighs from his place further up the hill. “I can try to heal you once we’ve reached camp, if you’d like.” It’s easy to see he doesn’t want to offer, but he also knows he has an obligation.

“Sure thing.” Iron Bull replies, and Remi rolls her eyes. Both men have tightened their eyes, and from the look Varric gives her, he sees it too.

When they do get back to camp, Solas’ healing magic doesn’t work. His cheeks turn a soft pink in the dying sun when he admits that he doesn’t actually know all that much healing magic. Remi’s brows furrow in confusion. His hands lack the callouses of a mage who has seen much combat, so she’d assumed he was a healer. It seems her assumption was wrong.

“I might have a balm that can help.” Remi finally offers, digging through her satchel to find the pouch she’d filled with various balms and creams.

“How’s that?” Varric asks from his place beside the fire.

“I lived in Rivain for a long time, remember? The number of accidental frostbites we’ve all received from children learning to control their magic is immense. It’s easier to just have a balm at home than to seek out a healer.” She stops then, pulling the small jar from her bag and hesitating. “Is it okay if I massage this into your shoulder, Iron Bull?”

He seems startled by the question, though he hides it quickly. “Be my guest.”

Remi has to unstrap and remove her gloves in order to really work the balm into his skin, and it works better when more body heat is fed into it. Iron Bull’s body temperature will be higher than hers, but she can still get his skin started on the healing process. When she finally begins to massage it into his shoulder, he groans in appreciation.

“Where the fuck do you guys come up with this stuff?” He asks around a mouthful of whatever he’s eating. Remi snorts and works it further into his shoulder, working out a knot she finds there in the process.

“We had a problem, we made a solution.” She wipes her hands off on one of her old shirts and sighs. “That should do it. If it’s still fucking up when you wake up tomorrow, I’ll do it again and you should be fine.”

“You gonna eat, Songbird?” Varric holds up a bowl of whatever is being served, but she waves him away.

“Nah. I’ve got horse races to beat, unfortunately.”

Solas makes a face and swallows the bread he had been eating. “Horse racing? Why have you agreed to that?”

“Egghead, I’m a Trevelyan. It’s in the name.”

She climbs onto Lago and trots him back toward the stables. Seanna lights up at the sight of her, and Remi’s breath is stolen once more. In the dying sunlight, the woman before her nearly glows gold.

“Are you ready?”

“You bet your ass I am.”

Seanna grabs the sandglass and gets ready to set it up, biting her lip in an attempt to be seductive. Riding on the high of a full mark and horse race, Remi doesn’t notice.

“Go!”

She does.

Riding fills her with euphoria. Jumping fallen trees, taking sharp corners, and moving at a full gallop has Remi whooping in delight. She finishes each race with ease, Seanna’s cheers each time she passes making her feel that much better. Iron Bull cheers for her as well, and she can’t even bring herself to be angry with him. He acts more like people than any of the other Ben-Hassrath she’d ever encountered.

The sun has set rapidly in the time it took for her to complete the courses, and the stars have just begun to show themselves. Remi dismounts Lago and lands on the ground with a small thud, grunting when Seanna practically throws herself at her. Their lips disconnect with an audible sound and Seanna huffs.

“I hope you have more than a little free time. I intend to keep you for a while."

* * *

  _Mother,_

_I hate the south. I don’t have much time to write to you, but I want you to know how much I fucking hate the south. The southern Templars are insane, the mages are horribly oppressed, and for whatever reason the south has bears. BEARS. I DID NOT COME HERE TO FIGHT BEARS!!_

_Hopefully this will all be over soon. I don’t know what I’m going to do anymore, but I’m leaving the south._ Everything _I want is missing. All the spices, all the plants and creams and balms. This is actually the worst._

_Oh, and the demons? I wish they’d stay in my dreams._

_I love you, though. And I love dad, and my stinky brothers, too. But not Emil. Make sure he knows how much I don’t love him._

_-Rose_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me:" i should really wait another week before posting this so i have more time to finish the next chapter"  
> inner me: "post it now, coward"


	8. Old Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “How soft and squishy of you, old man.”  
> “This old man has apostates to catch, thank you very much.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all again for your support! i've included a picture of what remi actually looks like, and let me tell you, it is probably the best thing i've ever created.

__

_Rosie,_

_How’re you liking that southern chill? Does it make you miss Rivain? I’ll bet._

_Marina misses you dearly. She asks about you all the time, and she brags no-stop. “My Auntie Rose is so cool. Look at this doll she gave me. It’s a warrior just like her.” She sings your praises, little sister. She wants to be just like you._

_I’ve taken my family and moved back home for the time being. It’s safer that way, especially when you’re the Herald of some bastard Inquisition, as the Chantry says. Nathaniel should be moving home soon as well. I’m not sure about Emil, though I know you don’t like him. Mom fawns over Marina and Illan whenever she gets the chance. She misses having kids in the house._

_You need to stay safe down there, okay? Don’t go picking any fights with people you shouldn’t. Not that you really have a choice in the matter, I suppose. Just cause mayhem_ safely _._

_Love you, Burgess._

_PS: does your hand really glow now? Do you use it as a lamp? That’d be kind of cool._

* * *

 

Remi’s face burns with shame when she gets back to camp that night.

Had the sex been great? Yes.

However, having Seanna scream her dead brother’s name as she orgasmed on Remi’s tongue had been less than fun.

Remi grabs her only change of clothes and heads down to the water where the rift had been, stripping down and stepping into the frigid water. A glance over her shoulder shows a scout standing watch a few feet away. With a small sigh, Remi waddles into the waterfall and shivers. She washes any and all evidence down the river, lathering the few soaps her mother had sent her into her hair.

The world seems to still as something howls in the distance.

On the stream’s edge, the scout notches an arrow and pulls her bow taunt. Numerous green eyes – eyes that flare like the mark on her hand – leer from within the darkness, and Remi inches toward her clothes. Bathing was a mistake. The scout makes no sound from her place beside Remi.

It’s a miracle Remi manages to get her clothes and armor on without setting the wolves off. Just as Remi tightens straps of her gloves, one of the wolves steps forward. A foaming maw is illuminated in the moonlight, an unnatural growl rumbling from deep within its body breaking the tense silence.

“Go get help.” The scout hisses, but Remi refuses. She pulls the largest knife from the set and grips it tightly.

“I’m not leaving you here.”

“Herald, please. We need you alive. My life is nothing compared to yours.”

But that’s not true. That has _never_ been true. Why can’t anyone seem to comprehend that? All of this is some freak accident, and now people are willing to lay down their lives for her. They act like her life means _more_ than theirs do. How did this happen?

“Don’t ever fucking say that again. Your life is invaluable. Every life means _something._ ” Remi hisses.

It’s as if the wolves move as one, for they charge in a single unit. Remi swears as the first one lungs at her, flipping her knife around and slashing the wolf across the throat. The scout fires arrow after arrow, backing towards higher ground as she picks off each wolf that gets too close to her. Remi tackles one of the wolves that comes for her, sneering as its blood splatters across her face.

One of the wolves bites down on her leg, tearing through armor and puncturing her calf. Remi screams as she drives her knife into this one’s head, yanking the blade free with more force than necessary once its dead. Another wolf tries to pounce on her from above, but her knife drives into its stomach before it can do much else.

She swings wildly when the final wolf goes down, heaving as she looks for more. The mark pulses in her hand with the exertion. Remi gives a small sigh of relief when she turns and finds the scout still standing on the rock, the woman having suffered merely a few scratches on her arms. The carcasses of the wolves liter the ground and stream, the water slowly running red under the light of the moons.

“My name’s Remi.” She offers through panting breaths, squatting down to rest her elbows on her knees and rest.

“Ilrune.” The scout responds, pulling her hood down to fix her hair. Remi gets a good look at her then, and the same panic from earlier than day swells in her veins. Ilrune is an elven woman, hair nearly as pale as her skin, made almost white by the moon. Remi exhales heavily. Ilrune is young enough to qualify as her daughter, and that immediately takes her off the table.

“Cool.” Remi breathes as she stands back up. “How do you feel about hunting down the rest of the wolves? We handled that pretty well, surprisingly, and I won’t get much sleep regardless.”

Ilrune studies her from her perch atop a rock before a smirk slowly spreads across her face. “It’s reckless for me to agree, and I would lose my job if I did so.” Remi nods in understanding, but Ilrune holds up a finger to silence her. “However, should our self-sacrificing Herald of Andraste decide she has to stop the wolves all by herself, I would be obligated to make sure she doesn’t get herself killed.”

Is this a terrible idea? Yes. But Remi thanks her lucky stars that the people who have to watch her have such a taste for mischief and adventure. She’s not sure what she’d do if someone who _actually_ _followed_ the rules was made to guard her.

“I am having the sudden need to be self-sacrificingly reckless. If only there were a scout around who could make sure I didn’t get myself killed.” Remi admonishes in a monotone voice, taking too-big steps toward the place where the wolves had originally appeared.

“Oh dear.” Ilrune half-exclaims in an equally monotone voice, sliding down from her rock and following Remi. “It seems the Herald of Andraste is about to do something really dumb. It looks like I’ll have to go after her.”

Both women snicker to themselves as they pass under a large outcropping and into a secluded den. A cave is to their right.

“We’re so going to die.” Remi says, and Ilrune nods from beside her.

“Probably.”

They’re both aware dying is highly unlikely, especially with how easy the wolves from earlier had gone down. When they wander further into the cave and spot the lesser terror demon that meanders slowly along the walls, their earlier battle is long forgotten.

“Fuck.”

Remi isn’t sure who whispers it, but the demon’s head snaps in their direction. It opens its mouth to scream as the wolves in the cave rise to circle them.

Everything grinds to a halt when Ilrune looses an arrow into one of the terror’s eyes, and it crumbles to dust. The wolves that had been moving to circle them lose the green glow of their eyes, and all parties in the cave freeze.

“Shoo.” Remi whispers, nudging her hand in the direction of the front of the cave. None of them do so, in fact, the largest comes forward and sniffs at her unmarked hand. Ilrune squeaks and huddles closer to her back when one of the wolves presses their snout into her butt.

“What the fuck?” She hisses, grabbing Remi’s upper arm tightly.

“Maybe they’ll be our new best friends?” Remi whispers back hopefully, sucking in a breath and standing straighter as more wolves come forward to sniff the two of them.

It feels like an eternity has passed before the wolves seem to grow bored and move out of the cave. Neither woman moves for a few moments after they’ve left.

“So…” Ilrune whispers, slowly letting go of Remi’s arm. “What was that?”

“Who even knows anymore, man.”

Ilrune moves to stand beside her. “Anyone who saw that would think Andraste had just saved you.”

“I’m going to have to give you a hard pass on that one. If anyone asks, the wolves were scared and fled.” Remi stoops to pick up three different coin purses and dumps them in her satchel. “I hate this Herald thing that everyone’s forced on me. No one asked for my opinion on the matter. Well, Josephine did. But ‘my reply’ will be given to the public, so you already know it’s going to be changed.”

“I’m sorry.” Ilrune says, picking some of the crystal grace she finds.

“You don’t have to apologize, Rue. Not your fault.”

They work in silence for a while, picking up little trinkets they find and dropping them in their pouches.

After a long moment, Ilrune begins to snicker.

“You almost had to fight possessed wolves while you were naked.” She giggles, bringing a fist up to cover her mouth.

Remi snickers as well, stopping to support herself on her knees as the full force of it hits her. “I really almost fought those wolves with my ass out!” Both women laugh themselves to near hysterics, leaning against the rock faces near them and wheezing. Neither are willing to acknowledge the very real fear that they could have died at the hands of that demon.

“They could’ve bitten my tiddies off.” Remi giggles, though her laughter is cut short when she trips over something and nearly falls on her face. Ilrune screams softly in another fit of laughter, wiping tears from her eyes as she moves to pull Remi up. Remi turns around and makes a small noise when she finds another one of the broken tiles they’d been finding all over. She slips it into her satchel hums to herself. “We should be good to head back. Now that the demon is dead, the wolves seem fine. And no one will know we were gone.”

“Whatever you say, oh graceful one.”

The walk back to camp is interrupted rather often when the two women break into laughing fits. They shush each other, shoving shoulders and stumbling over rocks in the stream.

This is the best Remi has felt in months, and she’s dreading the end.

The scouts around camp make no comment about their delayed return. The crackling of the fire does little to drown out the sounds of her companions snoring, and she’d thankful she has her own tent. Remi bids Ilrune a snickering farewell, gently shoving the elven woman towards her fellow scouts.

Remi sighs in relief when her tent flap finally closes behind her. Dawn will arrive in a few hours, and she needs the few hours of sleep she can get. Nightmares will shorten that amount even further, but it is less likely she’ll have them now.

As she moves to pull her boots off, her fingers brush over puncture marks in the leather backing of her boot. Remi freezes as she recalls the pain of the wolf biting her calf, and the rush of blood that had slid down the inside of her boot. There is no pain now, nor is there warm blood, and Remi’s brain twists in confusion.

She removes her boot carefully, undoing the laces and opening it as wide as she can before sliding her foot out. There is no tearing of her wound against the inside of the boot as it disconnects, no shocks of pain as it reopens. Everything is horribly still as she slowly turns her body in the candlelight to get a better view of the back of her calf.

Remi’s breath catches in her throat at the sight of the new scars marring her skin. They’re clearly from the wolf that had bitten her; they match up to the holes in her boot perfectly. So why are they healed? How did they heal? The bite should have been horribly crushing, and she hasn’t taken any kind of healing potion, nor seen a healer.

So why…?

As if to answer her question, the mark pulses gently in her palm. The concentration of light moves slowly through the crack in her palm, eventually fading into the veins that rest in the center of her wrist. A vague heat spreads with the magic of the mark, gliding through her veins like fish in a stream and coming to pulse faintly under the new scars on her calf.

In a moment of panic, Remi yanks the shirt from her body and holds the candle up to her shoulder. She’d been hit by the despair demon just like Iron Bull had. She should have the same bruising he has. So where is it? The skin is warmer than normal, and once more the faint green light of the mark slides smoothly through the veins beneath her skin.

Remi presses her unmarked hand against her mouth to stifle the scream that’s bubbling in her chest. She can feel herself beginning to hyperventilate, and suddenly the tent seems smaller. But outside the tent are scouts who will try to help her, so she stifles that panic and shoves it as far away as she can. Now is not the time to panic. Right now, Remi needs to try and process whatever the fuck is happening as rationally as possible without alerting the scouts outside.

From what she can gather, the mark has healed her twice now. Its magic has healed wounds that would have endangered her further. Overall, this is not a bad thing. The mark also tells her when rifts are nearby. This, once more, is not a bad thing. But the mark is talking to her. The mark is so bonded with her body that it can mend her when she breaks. It feeds on her when she doesn’t feed it. The mark is in her head.

It’s a parasite.

That makes sense, though it brings her no peace.

Remi stares at the mark for a long time. The impending sense of doom that she’d been ignoring since she’d woken up in that dungeon comes back tenfold, and Remi lets herself drown in it.

No one ever said she wasn’t allowed a moment to just suffer. At least, not when there’s nobody there to see.

-

Remi doesn’t sleep that night, which doesn’t surprise her.

She spends most of her night testing what the mark will and won’t heal, and the rest of it is spent mourning the normal life she’ll probably never see again. The bags under her eyes are noticeably heavier when she steps out of her tent that morning.

When all of their travelling stuff is packed, Remi wonders if she’ll ever catch a break. She’s been away from home for over three months now, and more than half of that time has been spent running around cleaning up someone else’s mess. The second she thinks she’s having fun, something crops up and tears all the positivity from her life.

“Now’s a good time to handle those wolves.” Iron Bull comments as they head in the direction of the wolf den. Remi scrubs at her eyes and stops walking.

“A scout and I took care of them already.”

Her companions are stunned silent, each staring at her in varying amounts of confusion.

“When did you have the time for that?” Varric asks her, eyebrows rising toward his hairline.

“Last night.” Remi shrugs, sighing heavily when they only continue to look at her. “Got back from the horse races late, went to bathe, and some wolves showed up. The scout who’d been guarding me helped me fight them off, and then we went and tried to find the rest. Turns out, they were possessed by a demon, and Ilrune somehow managed to one-shot the thing.”

“You freed them of possession? What did they do when they were freed?” It’s Solas this time, looking beyond bewildered.

Remi pats the chainmail on her thighs. “They sniffed us both, then left. It was really fucking weird.”

“So you managed to kill a bunch of wolves and come out of it unscathed? What did you fight with?” Iron Bull asks her, and she can’t help but sigh.

“Just a big knife. I left my ax in my tent.”

Iron Bull’s mouth splits into a grin. “You fought off a bunch of wolves naked with a knife? That’s something I’d have like to see.”

“When was I naked?” Remi replies, face screwing up in confusion. She hadn’t fought them naked.

“Songbird, you don’t have to be embarrassed.”

“I’m not. The wolves waited for me to put my clothes on.”

Silence falls on the four of them, but Remi is too out of it to really pinpoint what kind.

“The wolves… waited for you to put your clothes on?” Solas asks, voice doused in confusion. “They are wild animals. They would not wait for you to put your clothes on before attacking you.”

“But they did.” Remi replies, scrubbing once more at her eyes. When none of the men with her make another comment, she pulls out her map and turns toward the east. “Ilrune said the apostates had congregated in the woods over here. Locals have started calling it the Witchwood, which is super fitting.”

They turn the corner around a large rock formation, and Remi jerks backward when an arrow hits the ground near her boot. She looks up and makes eye contact with an equally startled bandit. Nobody moves for a few moments, a tense silence filling the air.

“So…” Remi trails off, nudging the arrow with her boot. “are you gonna want this back? Or can I keep it?”

The bandits all give some kind of war cry, and Iron Bull does the same from behind her. He charges one – Remi isn’t really sure which, her head is spinning – while Varric and Solas attack the other two. They make short work of them, and Remi only stares around them.

“You guys are really effective.”

“Thanks, Songbird.”

Solas puts his staff away as he examines their attackers. “These are no ordinary bandits.”

“Yeah. They’re too coordinated for bandits.” Iron Bull offers, and Remi hums.

“Cool. If we run into anymore, we can kill them, too.”

There’s another moment of silence, broken when Iron Bull places a heavy hand on her shoulder.

“You doing okay there, Fearless Leader?”

She’s sluggish in her response, shrugging his hand from her shoulder and continuing forward. “’M fine. Just tired.” She pauses in her forward march, nearly falling over in shock. A druffalo stares at her from a crevice in the rock wall. “Oh, shit.”

“Remi, we should really keep moving.” Solas urges, almost herding her with small nudges of his magic.

But the druffalo looks so lost, young eyes wide and terrified. She can’t just leave the poor thing here. It’s a wonder the wolves hadn’t killed it already.

“She’s not gonna let us leave it here, Chuckles.”

There’s a sigh from somewhere behind her as Solas concedes. “I’m aware.”

The short walk back to the farms is made even longer by the druffalo, who they have to herd toward the farms. Remi stumbles over things she shouldn’t, but she continues to brush her companions concerns away. They smile at the grateful farmer once they’ve finally returned his druffalo.

Irom Bull and Varric force her to sit down as they’re passing through the camp on the farms.

“All right,” Varric says, crouching and holding her by the shoulders. “When was the last time you slept through the night?”

That’s actually a really good question. Remi isn’t sure, now that she thinks about it. She’d gotten off the boat roughly two months ago, so maybe then?

Varric’s jaw drops, and Remi realizes belatedly that she said that out loud.

“How long do you sleep every night?” Solas asks her, and Iron Bull roots through his bag a few feet away.

“I don’t know. I keep having nightmares now that I’m sleeping on my own, and the mark makes them worse.” She answers honestly, exhaustion loosening her tongue. Her companions make noises of sympathy, and Iron Bull passes Varric a vial full of a deep purple liquid.

“Sleeping potion.” He explains. “It’ll keep whatever nightmares she’s having away.”

Remi tries to fight them on it, but she gives up after only a moment. The potion is bitter as it hits her tongue, losing flavor as it goes down. Iron Bull helps her into the largest tent, making no move to leave when she fists the loose fabric of his pant leg in her right hand.

“How will I kill you now?” She whispers to him, vision tunneling as her mind slows down. Iron Bull says something, but her drugged brain can’t make out what it is. That’s okay, though.

-

For the first time in months, Remi feels rested when she wakes.

She’s sluggish in her movements; the effects of the sleeping potion still not having fully worn off yet. It takes longer than she likes for her brain to finally catch up with the rest of her body, and at first, she’s too content to let it bother her.

When the fact that she doesn’t have a singular clue what time it is finally presents itself in her mind, Remi shoots into a sitting position. Her brain feels like it rattles in her skull in response to her sudden movement, and she presses her hands to her forehead with a hiss. The tent flap opens in front of her, and Varric peeks his head in with a grin.

“Songbird! Long time no see. How’d you sleep?”

She rubs the crust from the corners of her eyes before answering. “Really well, actually.” She pauses, squinting at Varric’s face against the harsh light behind him. It has to be midday, meaning she didn’t sleep very long at all. “How long was I out?”

“It’s Thursday now, so a little over a day.” Varric says casually, coming further into her tent and taking a seat in front of her. He waves away her panicked expression with a smile. “Don’t worry about it. The boys and I did some exploring while you were out. That scout, Ilrune, came too. We filled some more requisitions.”

“Oh, thank fuck. You’re a life saver, Varric. I don’t want to be useless.”

Varric face twists in disapproval. “Then you shouldn’t push yourself like you did. Having you catching up on sleep causing a delay is far better than you getting yourself killed because you’re too tired to think straight.”

“I’m sorry.” Remi whispers, sinking into her shoulders as guilt warms her face. “I didn’t want to seem useless, or inadequate. I don’t want anyone thinking less of me.” Varric raises an eyebrow, mouth twisting in confusion.

“Shit, kid- almost everyone we’ve come across completely adores you. And it’s not just the Herald of Andraste part. The only other person I’ve seen draw people in like you do is Hawke, and I thought he was a special case.”

Remi fights a smile, picking at the fabric of her shirt instead. “Says you. It must be a Free Marcher thing, because you’re the same way.”

Varric grins at her, rolling his eyes as he nudges her leg with his foot. “You’re something special, Songbird. Nobody thinks you’re useless, or inadequate.”

“Prove it.” She snorts, challenge written in the brown of her eyes.

“You’ve completely charmed the Seeker, for one.”

“She doesn’t count.”

“And you didn’t let me finish.” When Remi remains silent, Varric continues. “Somehow, you’ve got Chuckles wrapped around your little finger, which I didn’t think was possible. You’ve seduced two people mere moments after meeting them – three if you count Tiny – and how many friends have you made in that exact same amount of time? You’re valued, Songbird. Don’t ever think otherwise.”

Remi giggles quietly, brushing the few tears that had gathered in her eyes away. “How soft and squishy of you, old man.”

“This old man has apostates to catch, thank you very much.”

He leaves while she packs up the rest of her stuff. Remi steps out and is greeted by looks of relief from the people who have gathered in the camp, so she holds her head high and waves at them. Solas hands her a bowl of cubed fruits as she shoulders her pack.

“You should eat.” He reminds her, a small satisfied smile rising to his face when she pops one of the berries in her mouth.

“And you should cover up those nasty toes before they fall off, Eggy.” She replies, bumping his shoulder gently with her hip. Solas’ smile dissolves into a look of disapproval as Iron Bull laughs from the other side of camp.

“Ha! She’s not wrong.”

“And you, The Iron Bull, need to cover up your nipples before they’re sharp enough to cut rocks.”

He laughs again, throwing his head back in a way that should have definitely unbalanced him. Remi grins to herself as she eats another fruit. “Good to have you back, Remi.” Iron Bull finally says, making sure to flex his pectorals for emphasis. Remi sticks her tongue out in disgust, but she appreciates the sentiment.

“We can actually get going now. I’m rested enough to not trip on a rock and break my neck.”

They make good time, no bandits or druffalo left to interrupt their exploration. The men she travels with follow her lead without question. The rock faces shelter patches of elfroot and large iron deposits; two things the Hinterlands has proven to have an abundance of. Remi picks the things she can and marks the rest on her map.

Iron Bull clears his throat to draw her attention from his place beside her. “What was that thing you said to me the other day?” He asks, keeping his tone casual.

Remi blinks up at him in confusion, brows furrowing together.

“It was like… ‘come-a toochi deora’ or something.”

Oh.

_Oh_.

He completely butchers the words, but it’s easier to understand him than she’d expected. It brings Remi boundless amounts of relief to know he doesn’t speak Rivaini. She draws back on her memories of her hours of wakefulness the day before, and she distinctly remembers speaking to him in Common. It seems her twisted luck was looking out for her again.

“I don’t know.” Remi settles on, winding the straps of her satchel within her hands. “It’s probably just something I heard in Rivain.”

Iron Bull doesn’t seem to believe her, but he drops the subject. They exit the gully in a comfortable silence, but Remi grinds to a halt. Hanging in the trees around them are charms that she’s seen all too often. The people in Rivain used them all the time to ward off demons from their dreams.

She looks closer, reaching up and pulling one of the branches with a hanging ward toward her. Hidden in the leaves are the colorful and far less practical charms she’d been dreading.

“ _Cattura sogni_.” She breathes, calloused fingers brushing the poorly woven charms delicately.

Varric moves to stand beside her. “What’d you find?”

“A dream catcher.” She answers, letting the branch go when Solas and Iron Bull move to stand with them. “And protection charms. There are children here, too.”

“How do you know?” Iron Bull asks her, reaching up to finger the charms and wards in the leaves. “You sound certain.”

Remi fists her fingers in the chainmail on her thighs as she answers. “These are used and enchanted to keep demons from a mage’s dreams, especially those of children. And the dream catchers are things they let mage children make to convince themselves they’ll be safe. They don’t actually work, but it comforts the younger ones who aren’t really sure how magic works yet.”

Solas stands close to peer at the dream catcher Iron Bull turns over in his hands. “Did you live closely with the mages in Rivain, Remi?”

“Yeah.” She responds softly. “My nephew.”

“Oh.” Solas murmurs. A gentle silence settles on the four of them as Remi retreats into her own head. If only Solas knew the depth in which the mages in her family ran. Teodoro isn’t even her blood nephew.

“The wards mean we’re close. Keep your guard up and your head on. I don’t want a repeat of the Templar encampment.” Remi is almost positive her companions don’t either.

After the wards comes the drop in temperature and the stalagmites of ice. Remi brushes her fingertips against one and watches in morbid fascination as the color drains from them. Solas yanks her hand away and uses the smallest amount of fire magic to breathe life back into her fingers. She gives his disappointed look a half smile and moves to continue leading.

They come around a bolder when Remi hushes them. A fire barrier is clearly visible behind numerous sellswords, and Iron Bull hums gratefully at the chance to fight. Remi shushes him once more and steps out from behind the boulder before they can stop her.

“Excuse me?” She calls, and the sellswords turn to attack her. She can only sigh as she draws her weapon.

The sellswords don’t put up much of a fight, though one of them manages to nick Varric’s cheek. Remi puts her ax away as soon as the last one falls, turning toward the barrier the apostates have set up.

“Solas? Are barriers soundproof?” She asks over her shoulder, the man in question coming to stand at her side.

“Only if they are specifically cast to be.” He responds, and Remi hums in acknowledgement. She pats her thighs and inhales deeply.

“Here we fuckin go, I guess.” She throws all caution to the wind as she approaches the barrier, hands still tapping on her thighs while she ignores her nerves. She presses her face as close to the barrier as she can get it without her eyebrows burning off and attempts to peer through it. “Hello? Is anybody in there willing to negotiate with me?”

Nobody answers her, though she thinks she hears movement from behind it.

“My name is Remi, and I really want to try and talk to you. Please?” Nobody answers once more, and Iron Bull grows antsy behind her.

“Come on, Rem.” He hisses impatiently. “They’re not going to negotiate. Just let Solas break the barrier.”

Remi ignores him, hands fisting around the strap of her satchel. She’s not doing this again. “I have reason to believe you have children with you. I saw the charms; I know what they mean. We use them for my nephew.” She pauses, licking her rapidly cracking lips. “Please. I don’t want to kill people who don’t deserve it.”

Her hope is waning when a voice comes through the barrier. “Drop your weapons. Then we can talk.”

The grin that splits across her face is contagious, as Solas fights a smile of his own. Varric only sighs as he sets Bianca behind a rock. Iron Bull is the least willing, visibly upset by his companions’ willingness to comply.

Remi discards every knife she has atop her ax and turns back to the barrier. “We’re good now. Please let us in.”

The barrier drops with a hiss like an extinguished campfire. The man who stands before them wields his staff expertly, eyes guarded. Over his shoulder, Remi spots the curious eyes of children. She knew it.

“My name is Dane. What do you want?”

“I wanted to find out what you’re doing out here. Apostates have been attacking refugees along the road. I’m hoping that isn’t you.” She answers.

Dane scoffs, rolling his eyes and dropping his stance. “No, that’s the mages at Redcliffe.”

Remi’s heart drops. “Are you sure? Enchanter Fiona invited us there a few weeks ago to recruit mages in the closing of the Breach.”

“Ha!” Dane’s laugh is sarcastic, eyes taking on an angry light. “Now you’re just lying to us. Fiona sold us to some Tevinter Magister two days after the Breach opened in the sky. We’re _slaves_.”

Her companions all make noises of angered surprise behind her. She finds herself making a similar one.

“She sold you to a Tevinter Magister? She _sold_ you? _What the fuck_?” Remi’s swearing flips rapidly between Common and Rivani as she fists her hands in her hair. The mark crackles in response to her new anger, and Dane’s eyes instantly fly to it.

“You’re her. You’re the Herald of Andraste! Please, you have to help us. Fiona has sent too many people after us, the swordsmen you fought outside being some.” Gone is his anger, now replaced with hesitant reverence. He knows she can help him.

Remi breathes deeply through her nose to try and calm herself, hands flexing into fists at her sides. “We have a camp not too far from here. Tell the soldiers there that Remi said they’re to take you back to Haven. You’re under my protection, now. If anyone gives you any trouble, make sure you let me know.”

“But wait!” one of the mages from behind Dane calls, stopping Remi’s angered grabbing of her weapons. “How will your scouts know we don’t lie?”

“You’ll be calling me Remi. Not Lady Trevelyan or Rosemarie or The Herald. Very few people know that’s what I go by.” She gives them her best smile then, jerking her shoulder in the direction of the road.

Once the apostates are out of sight, Remi kicks a tree with all of strength. The mark immediately soothes the pain in her foot, and a shudder runs down her spine.

“What the **fuck** was she thinking? Selling them to a Tevinter Magister _two days_ after the Conclave exploded? She’s doomed thousands of innocent people because she _felt like it_!! I swear on my _life_ : I’m going to break her in half.”

Varric pats the side of her leg in an attempt to soothe her anger. “Easy there, Songbird. We’re all pretty pissed about this.”

“Pissed?” Remi asks, rage making her walk faster than normal down the road. “You think I’m _pissed_? No, no no, Varric, I’m furious. You don’t seem to get just how fucking personal this is to me. My brother was a mage. He’d have been stuck in this stupid fucking rebellion because some ignorant _fool_ thought she would get more power by selling herself and all of the people who need her to a Tevinter Magister! I’m going to murder her, Varric!”

“Rem!” Iron Bull exclaims, slamming a hand on her shoulder to stop her forward march. “Look.”

Ahead of them, at the very entrance of Redcliffe, is a rift.

She finally notices the way the mark has almost retreated from the forefront of her palm, pushing as far as it can into her veins. It pulses under her skin, sending electric shots along her skin. Ahead of her, a leaf floats passed the rift. It moves so slowly at first, then flying toward the ground faster than the wind should carry it.

“Did you all see that?” Remi whispers, paralyzed in vague fear. Each of the men makes a noise of affirmation. “Okay. Cool. How?”

“I… have no earthly idea.” Solas admits after a moment. Remi exhales heavily.

“Great. Okay. I guess we should go and, uh, close it. And stuff.”

All weapons are drawn quickly, the party taking up defensive stances as they approach.

There’s a strange sense of falling when Remi gets caught up in one of the rift’s extremities. It slows so her body so aggressively, yet her mind runs at normal speed. She can see her companions out of the corner of her eye. Solas moves like lightning compared to the other two men. She forces her way out of the rift’s grasp just as a lesser terror pushes itself out of the ground. She beheads it and thrusts the mark toward the rifts center.

It pulls languidly, almost unwilling to close the rift. Another wave of demons rises from the ground, taking advantage of the mark’s hesitance. Remi rolls away from a wraith and in comes to stand beside Solas, who dispatches the wraith with ease. She swings her ax through a terror that lunges for him, grunting as she has to turn on her heel and slice through a wraith.

When there are no immediate threats and Solas effectively covers her ass, Remi reaches into the rift once more. She ignores the mark this time, instead working to close the rift herself. The last time she’d had to do this had been the Breach. She grasps the tendrils of magic within her hand and pulls them into herself, exhaling heavily when the rift finally snaps shut.

Solas stumbles into her and sags heavily. She squeaks in surprise, dropping her ax in favor of holding him up. It bothers her just how light he is, and Remi fights the urge to scold him for how little he eats.

“My apologies.” Solas breathes, though he makes no move to get up. Remi’s brows furrow in concern as she waits for him to catch his breath. He stands on his own after a few moments, shuddering as he downs a lyrium potion. She turns away as soon has he pulls it out, busying herself with picking up her ax and admiring the scenery. Solas offers another breathy apology when he realizes why she’d turned, leaning heavily on his staff.

“Don’t worry about it.” Remi reassures, glancing at Varric and Iron Bull as they approach. “You okay?”

Solas hums gently, pretending he isn’t drained. “I am. Whatever magic the rift was made of increased the rate I could fire spells. It also seems to have drained me of my mana.”

“Yeah. It altered time itself. I have never moved so slowly in my entire life.” Remi agrees, still watching Solas in concern. Her friend hums as his mind tries to catch up with his mouth. She turns to address the other men who follow her. “This reeks of Tevinter. Be on you guard.”

Iron Bull scoffs at her. “No shit. Leave it to Tevinter to mess with a hole in the sky.”

“They do love their demons.” Varric adds.

“Maker have mercy! It’s over? Open the gates!” Shouts a woman dressed in Ferelden armor, completely ignoring them in favor of the opening gates.

Remi makes a face and heads toward the gate as well, hands hovering at her side in case Solas decides to fall over again. Is this how her companions felt yesterday?

An Inquisition scout jogs to meet them, his face nervous. “We’ve spread word the Inquisition was coming, but you should know that no one here was expecting us.”

“That doesn’t surprise me, if I’m being honest. Notify your fellow scouts that there has been foul play, and you all must be on your guard. Your lives are important, don’t risk them.” Remi’s last sentence is more of a command than a simple statement. After what Ilrune said, she doesn’t trust these idiots with their own lives.

“As you say, My Lady Herald. We’ve arranged use of the tavern for the negotiations.” The scout looks like he’d say more, but an elven man comes sprinting toward them.

“Agents of the Inquisition, my apologies! Magister Alexius is in charge now, but hasn’t yet arrived. He’s expected shortly. You can speak with the former grand enchanter in the meantime.”

Remi’s mood darkens considerably. Out of all the magisters, Fiona picked _Gereon_? A snarl settles on her face, and the elven boy makes a quick escape. Of course Gereon would be here, taking slaves mere days after the Divine dies. Is she generalizing Tevinter magisters based on the one and only time she met this one back in Tevinter? Yes, she is. But she knows more about him than she wants to.

“I take it you know the guy, Songbird?” Varric asks from his place beside her as he takes in the dark hatred that had settled on her face.

“He tried to tell a friend of mine to fetch his belongings all because she’s an elf. And when she wouldn’t, he tried to hit her.”

Iron Bull whistles lowly as Solas asks, “What did you do?”

“What did I do?” Remi parrots. “Oh, no no. Her husband nearly ripped his ears off. Then she set his robes on fire, and I broke his nose. The innkeeper also refused to let him stay there. His apprentice was allowed to stay, though.”

Iron Bull snickers loudly. “So what you’re saying is: this magister guy is going to be thrilled to see you.”

Remi laughs as she leads them through the town, a malicious grin set on her face. “ _Definitely_. But I can’t wait to fuck with him.”

They make their way through the town and stop by a few shops, the four of them sticking close enough to be safe but not enough to be suspicious. They congregate at the door of the tavern where Remi twists her rage and anxiety into a mask of comfortable confidence, snide comments settling under her tongue like a failsafe.

She pushes the door open and strides in as though she’s completely at ease. The mages who crowd the tavern turn to stare, and Fiona turns as well. The second they make eye contact, Remi realizes something is very wrong. There is no recognition in Fiona’s tired eyes.

“Welcome, agents of the Inquisition. What has brought you to Redcliffe?” Fiona’s tone borders on accusatory, and the woman behind her seems dangerous pleased. Remi doesn’t show that it bothers her, smile becoming infinitely more charming.

“You invited me here to negotiate, Fiona. You traversed all the way to Val Royeaux just to meet me, invited me here to negotiate, and then fled. Does this not ring a bell in that big brain of yours?”

“You must be mistaken.” Fiona admonishes, and Remi’s smile becomes a little dangerous. She is _never_ mistaken. “I haven’t been to Val Royeaux since before the Conclave.”

Remi knows she’s being a bitch, but she doesn’t care who she offends. This is the woman who sold innocents into slavery. “Haven’t you? I’d have thought you’d mention the selling of yourself and countless others into slavery when we met, but it seems you failed to do so. Was it genuine deception, Fiona, or was it just shame?”

“I was not- I did not-“ the tips of Fiona’s ears burn red, and the woman behind her jumps to her defense.

“No!” She adamantly cries. “Magister Alexius will bring the mages where they belong: the top.”

Remi doesn’t pay her any mind, instead studying the way Fiona’s eyes grow increasingly unfocused. Something is going wrong inside her head. She battles for focus with her own mind, grasping the facts she’s been force-fed for months.

“The free mages have already… pledged themselves to the service of the Tevinter Imperium.” Fiona responds finally, struggling around the words she knows aren’t true. Remi’s companions all make their own comments to Fiona, but Remi remains silent. She knows what happens here. No progress will be made until Gereon shows up, and he loves being late.

“As one indentured to a magister, I no longer have the authority to negotiate with you.”

Remi’s pleasant smile is back on her face, posture confident. “Then show me someone who does.”

The door to the tavern opens, and Remi finds her practiced coolness evaporating at the sound of Gereon’s voice. It’d been so long since she’d last heard it, she’d almost forgotten it. Unfortunately, you never forget the way an eel talks when you finally hear him speak.

“Welcome, my friends! I apologize for not greeting you earlier.”

No longer hiding the utter malice in her grin, Remi keeps her back turned. He must not know she’s here. She can’t wait to see the look on his face.”

“Agents of the Inquisition,” Fiona begins, pulling out a chair at the table nearest her. A stone settles in Remi’s stomach. “allow me to introduce-“

“Gereon! What an absolute _pleasure_ to see you again.”

His face falls into a sneer the second she turns to face him, though he hides it quickly. Felix waves hesitantly over his father’s shoulder, and her smile becomes the smallest bit more genuine.

“Ah, Remi. You are the survivor, yes?” He asks, forcing the words from his mouth with barely hidden disgust. “The one from the Fade? Interesting.”

Remi keeps her tone pleasant, smile still set deceptively on her face. “You know, I can’t help but wonder how you managed to enslave the mages so shortly after the Divine’s untimely death. If you ask me it’s a little suspicious on your part.”

“And you are the only survivor of the explosion that killed her. How very suspicious on your part, dear girl.” Gereon’s tone is so bathed in disgust that Remi can almost smell it. “Come, have a seat. Let us _negotiate_.”

Felix stands at the edge of the table, spine straight and face pleasant.

“Felix, would you send for a scribe, please? And Remi, I’m sure you remember my son, Felix.”

Remi smirks at Gereon, offering Felix a little wave as he turns to leave. “How could I forget the angel of a son _you_ somehow managed to raise, Gereon? He truly was a doll the last time we met.”

Gereon ignores her, clenching his jaw behind a smile. “I’m not surprised you’re here. Containing the Breach is not a feat that many could even attempt. There is no telling how many mages would be needed for such an endeavor. Ambitious, indeed.”

“Let’s cut the shit, Gereon.” Remi sneers, all pleasantries dropping. He drops his as well, disgust bunching his wrinkled face into a raisin. “You’ve enslaved innocent people, and I’m here to take them from you. By force, if necessary. I have no qualms with shattering your nose again. It seems you never quite healed, either. What a pity.”

He moves to retaliate just as Felix staggers toward the table, stumbling much like Solas had earlier. Remi is out of her seat in an instant, catching him just as he stumbles. A piece of paper is pressed hastily into her hand, and Remi fights a smile. It seems Felix is a little actor.

“My Lady, I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.”

Remi coos at him, helping steady him on his feet. “There’s nothing to apologize for so long as you’re all right.”

“ _Are_ you all right?” Gereon asks, moving toward his son to support him. Remi purses her lips. Gereon is a horrid man, but he loves his son more than anything. “Come. I’ll get your powders. Please excuse me. We will have to continue this another time. Fiona, I require your assistance back at the castle.”

“I don’t mean to trouble everyone.” Felix says, and Remi doesn’t bother hiding her smile. She’d always figured he had a penchant for mischief, but this is something else entirely.

She drops her smile as Gereon turns to stare at her. “I shall send word to the Inquisition. We will conclude this business at a later date.”

The trio leaves, and Remi finally pulls the note from her pocket. She reads it loud enough for her companions to hear, and a smile spreads on her face.

“Sounds like a trap.” Varric and Iron Bull say at the same time, but Remi brushes their concern away.

“Nah. Felix is a good kid. I trust him.”

They’re about to leave when a man reaches out to brush Remi’s elbow. She turns to face him, and her eyes are immediately drawn to the sunburst seared into his flesh. Her entire body shudders, hands clenching around the strap of her satchel. Tranquility; she’d made it happen before. She’s turned someone Tranquil, and she will never forgive herself. Watching the life drain from those young eyes had nearly killed her.

So when Clemence asks that she take him in, keep him safe, she does not hesitate. She tells him to bring any other Tranquil he can, and the Inquisition soldiers will take them to a camp so they may be brought to Haven. It’s an easy decision, and she ignores Iron Bull’s comment about how creepy they are.

The walk to the Chantry is quietly anticipatory. Solas stays by her side, waving at the youngest mage children who cling to the legs of those they trust to protect them. When they finally reach the Chantry door, the mark spasms angrily. Remi sighs as her friends draw their weapons.

“You know the drill. The second I have eyes on the rift, I’m closing it. If I can’t get it closed, expect demons. We don’t leave until it shuts.”

“Got it.” The men who follow her affirm, and Remi throws the door open with ease. Her eyes ghost over the man beating a shade to death with his staff, quickly finding the rift and reaching toward it. The mark doesn’t want to, but Remi forces her way through it anyway. The tendrils of magic are gripped harshly within her fist, forcefully dragged into the mark itself and weaving the sky closed.

Just as the rift fizzles out, the demon drops dead. The man who’d been bludgeoning it breathes a sigh of relief, leaning on his staff and turning to face the four people in the door. He freezes just as she does, jaws dropping in unison.

_“Dorian?!”_

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope y'all enjoyed that cursed image of my baby girl. i included the actual one that shows off as much of her face as possible.


	9. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a small flashback of when Remi and Dorian first met. Not a main chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i saw endgame yesterday so im super depressed now, and i figured y'all would prefer me not taking my depression and writing it into the supposed to be happiness of dorian and remi reuniting. litty tiddy, farewell.

**Seere, Rivain, 9:31 Dragon**

Remi throws the large coil of rope over her shoulder, careful to keep the sharp edges of the hooks away from her exposed skin. Faust pushes a crate full of fish away from her and towards the cart that will bring them to the market.

“You shouldn’t carry so much at once, lest you fall over.” He teases, and Remi can only scoff.

“What would your wife say if she knew you were picking on me, hm?”

“And what would Herah say if she knew you split your face open – again – carrying too many coils?”

Another scoff leaves Remi’s lips as she hands one of her coils to a member of her crew. “Are you happy now, Mother?”

“Positively thrilled.” Faust crows. He loads his crate into the cart and turns to her, hands coming to rest on his hips. “Will you be coming by for dinner? Maeve is making some food she learned about in Orlais.”

Remi raises an eyebrow and corrects Faust’s poor attempt at naming the food in Common. “Definitely. We can work on your Common afterwards, if you want.”

“That’d be great, thanks.”

Faust hops into the cart and stomps his foot twice, letting the driver know it’s time to head out. Remi grunts when she drops the coils she carries into their own crate, leaning back and popping her back when she’s finished. Behind her, someone clears their throat.

“Excuse me, Signore?” The man behind her, whoever he is, is Tevinter. That much she can gather from the accent and the poor attempt at Rivaini. He also seems to think she’s a man. “I couldn’t help but overhear that you speak Common. I was wondering if you could possibly assist me?”

Someone from Tevinter could only be here for the Seers, and Remi stops herself from sighing. Plastering a charming smile across her face, she turns. Might as well play along.

The man – bordering on a child – who now stands before her can’t seem to tear his gaze away from her exposed shoulders. His eyes travel down the length of her arms at the same pace a blush spreads across his cheeks. Remi’s fake smile becomes a little more real.

“Can I help you?” She asks him, crossing her arms across her chest and casually flexing her biceps. The young man in front of her clears his throat and forces himself to keep his eyes on her face. When he next speaks, he lays his own kind of charm on a little too thick, and Remi almost finds herself cooing.

“I am Dorian-“ a pause as he seems to refrain from elaborating on that title, “and I’m looking for someplace for myself and my… traveling companions to stay. Do you know of any inn that would have room for the three of us?”

This man reminds her so much of her eldest brother it’s almost laughable. “I do. I have to stop by, anyway, so feel free to follow me.”

Dorian jumps on her offer, and Remi almost feels a little guilty. He keeps making small talk, little innuendos and flirtations, when Remi finally sighs.

“Dorian-“

“I do like the way you say my name.”

Well. That doesn’t make this easier. Remi doesn’t want to crush his confidence, but he really is barking up the wrong tree. “Dorian, honey. I’m not a man.”

There’s a pause then as Dorian’s face crumbles, but it’s gone as quickly as it was there. “I knew that.”

“You don’t have to pretend like you did. It really is okay.”

“No, no.” Dorian defends, “I knew you were a woman. Why else would I flirt with you like I did?”

Remi remembers these days. She’d flirted with a number of male Templars after she’d joined the order, but that didn’t make her like men. “I actually like women, believe it or not. So thank you for your interest, but it wouldn't have worked out.” 

Dorian doesn’t say anything for a while, and Remi doesn’t blame him. They reach Satchel’s inn within a few more minutes, where she bids Dorian farewell and meanders inside. Satchel stands on his ladder to reach the top shelf, pulling an old bottle of wine from its hiding place and tossing it to Maeve. The elven woman examines the label with a satisfied smile.

“Ah, Remi!” She exclaims, hopping down from her spot on the bar’s counter and strutting over. “How was the fishing? And how is Faust?”

Remi groans dramatically, leaning against the wall and pressing a hand to her heart. “Maeve, woe is me! Your dastardly husband was so cruel! So _vile_!”

“Shut your whore mouth, Remi.” Satchel grumbles as he slides back down his ladder, tucking it into a crevice in the wall. “We all know who causes the problems around here.”

“Maeve, do you see the hate with which I am treated? First by your husband, now by an angry little man!”

Satchel throws a spoon at Remi’s head, his grin making his beard rise. Maeve snickers as well, taking a seat on one of the barstools.

“You spreading lies about me?” Faust asks from behind the counter, pushing his way out of Satchel’s kitchen with a teasing frown set on his face.

“I’d never!” Remi gasps, gasping in earnest when too thick arms wind around her waist and hoist her off the ground.

Herah grins at her when Remi cranes her head around to see, plopping them both onto a stool and locking Remi in her lap. “You causing problems again, Kadan?”

Satchel makes a noise of triumph at Remi’s affronted expression. Maeve and Faust laugh to themselves, bidding their friends farewell and moving towards the door.

“You’ll be by for dinner, won’t you?” Maeve asks, and Herah nods her affirmation. With a theatrical billow of her skirts, Maeve whisks Faust out of the Inn and into the bustling market crowds outside.

A lull settles within the inn. Herah tucks her face into Remi’s neck and squeezes her waist. Remi rolls her eyes and leans further into Herah’s chest, pulling her half-finished dream catcher from her pocket and setting back to weaving it. Satchel watches her with knowing eyes and a blush rushes to her cheeks.

That blush fades rapidly when the door to the inn in nearly thrown open. Herah tenses beneath her, body temperature rising as she peeks over Remi’s shoulder.

Standing in the doorway is an overly dressed older man, and two younger men. One of those men happens to be Dorian, who immediately makes eye contact with Remi. Dorian’s presence already tells her that these men are Tevinter, but had he not been there, their clothes would have done it for him. Pointed shoes, pillowing fabric, and rich colors all scream Tevinter.

“Is this the inn you were intending to bring us to, Dorian?” The older man asks, and Dorian gives an almost ashamed nod. From behind the bar, Satchel speaks. It’s always weird to hear him speak in Common.

“How can I be of service?”

The renting of rooms is relatively tame, and the older man who loudly proclaims himself as Magister Alexius – Remi will be calling him Gereon after she sees how the name gets on his nerves – heads up the stairs toward his room to rest. Dorian and the other man stand awkwardly in the tavern, uncertainty coloring their cheeks.

“Dorian, hey.” Remi calls, summoning him over with a little wave. His friend follows him closely, both of them eyeing Herah with caution. As if sensing their gazes, Herah removes her face from Remi’s neck and sits to her full height, setting a stern gaze on both boys. Remi huffs and elbows the woman behind her. “You stop that. We both know they can’t hurt you.”

Then she turns to the two of them, leaning as far forward as Herah will let her and resting her elbows on her knees. “Who’s your friend?”

“My name is Felix, My Lady.”

“Ick, no.” Remi snorts, her eyebrows furrowing in distaste. “None of that ‘My Lady’ stuff. Just call me Remi. And this is Herah. Don’t worry, the most she’s going to try to do is mother you aggressively.”

Herah grunts, knocking her chin against the back of Remi’s head and smirking when she hisses. “What brings you to Seere?” She asks them, tilting her head at the two of them.

“Father wants to speak with a Seer.” Felix admits, and Dorian nods.

“Yes. He’s trying to talk to a specific ghost.”

Remi raises an eyebrow, pressing her lips together in thought. Seers don’t summon specific spirits, spirits come to them. That’s what keeps possessions so low: no corruption occurs if no spirits (or demons) are pulled forcefully from their happy little places in the Fade.

Herah tells them just that, frowning when both boys seem to deflate. “How long are you here for?” She asks them both, unwinding her arms from Remi’s waist to adjust the flowers that are settled around her horns.

“Two weeks.” Dorian states absentmindedly, still observing the way Remi sits in Herah’s lap even after being let go. Remi gives him a knowing look and a small smile when they make eye contact, but Dorian’s eyes flit away after a moment.

“Do you know anywhere we could find a Seer?” Felix inquires hopefully, hands pressed together in front of him.

“A friend of mine might be able to help you, but I know others if she can’t.” Herah grins, rising to stand and letting Remi slide off her lap. With both women now on their feet and standing taller than the younger men, Satchel snorts from behind the counter.

“Good luck getting that man to listen to her.”

~

Sure enough, Satchel was right. The second Gereon saw Maeve’s pointed ears he’d assumed her to be some kind of servant and had treated her as such. It was only the presence of Felix and Dorian that kept Maeve from burning Gereon to a crisp.

Herah holds Faust off the ground, face set grimly as he squirms and shouts profanities in every language he knows. Remi is the only one who remains, her friends believing she’d keep a level head. At least, that’s what the Tevinter men believe. Remi is only left behind because she’s more likely to get away with whatever she intends to do.

“Could you take us to see a _proper_ Seer? I won’t appreciate a little joke like that again.” Gereon sneers, and the young men with him cringe. Remi’s forced smile turns dangerous and she approaches him.

“Sorry about this, Felix.” She calls. Before anyone can really guess her next move, she winding her fist back and slamming it directly into Gereon’s nose. The old man makes noises of agony, holding his broken and bleeding nose in both hands. Remi shakes her own hand out, winking at Dorian who watches on in shock.

“Felix, Dorian,” she addresses pleasantly, “you’re both welcome at the inn. Gereon, your room will be cleared of your belongings and given to someone else. Good luck finding another place to stay after insulting a Seer.”

She turns and leaves while Gereon heals his broken nose, a satisfied smile on her face with each curse that leaves his lips. While neither boy ends up staying at the inn, Dorian comes back to visit rather often. Remi will smile each time he comes and casually point out the men who have been making eyes at him.

“But Remi,” Dorian will say, flashing her a teasing smile. “You have caught my eye since I arrived here. Why would I look at anyone else?” Remi makes no comments when Dorian disappears into the room she’s kept rented out for him with a stranger. She only smiles, ready to give him whatever he needs when he emerges later.

His time in Seere will come to an end rather quickly, and he returns to the inn to say goodbye.

“Don’t go forgetting about me.” Remi will tease, mushing up his carefully groomed hair with a fond smile.

Herah will only smile at him, pressing a small charm she’d forged into his hand. “Do not lose this.”

Maeve and Faust will embrace him from either side, pressing a kiss to each of his cheeks. Satchel will only shake his head, handing Dorian a smaller bottle of wine.

Remi will walk him to the dock where the ship back to Tevinter sits in waiting. Dorian will hesitate for a moment before he turns to her, tucking himself against her in a tight hug. She’ll hug him back, pressing a kiss to his hairline.

“Don’t forget about _me_ , Remi.” Dorian will whisper, voice sounding tight. Remi won’t acknowledge the wetness on her collar.

“Never.”

When his ship has disappeared over the horizon, Remi will allow her smile to fall. She’ll hope she gave him the acceptance he desperately needs, the acceptance that she was denied at his age. But 10 years from then, when she runs into him once more, Remi will realize her acceptance was nowhere close to being enough.


	10. Red Lyrium Bones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do you believe yourself a jester, Gereon?” Remi shoots back, crossing her arms across her chest and pinning him with a frown. “Corrupt magisters such as yourself don’t do ‘indentured’. You do enslaved, or you do dead. That is the way you like your blood magic, isn’t it? Tortured and unwilling?”

Seeing Dorian again is almost surreal.

Ten years have passed since Remi has last laid eyes on him. He’s grown, filled out. His mustache has gotten longer and the ends are even more curled than before. It’s not a mustache someone should be able to pull off, but somehow Dorian does it.

She approaches him without hesitation, reaching out to meet his hand and pulling him into a one-armed hug. The soft laugh Dorian gives is one of fatigue and relief, but the shine in his eyes overcomes it all when he turns her hand over in his to try and get a look at the mark.

“This is fascinating. How does it work, exactly?” His giddy curiosity almost makes her want to tell him. Almost. Not even Solas knows the things the mark does to her, and Dorian scoffs a laugh when she doesn’t answer. “You don’t even know, do you? You just wiggle your fingers, and boom! Rift closes.”

“I don’t appreciate being made fun of, Dorian.”

“And I don’t appreciate coming all this way to impress a beautiful woman, and instead winding up with… you.”

Remi holds back a laugh and forces a frown onto her face, failing miserably as Dorian hides his own smile. “Am I not pretty enough for you?”

“Quite the contrary; you’re absolutely dashing. I’d only expected someone far more… petite and lady-like with a name like Rosemarie.”

“Now you know why I don’t use it.”

One of the men – who she definitely did _not_ forget were behind her – clears his throat before cutting into their conversation. “You know this guy, Songbird?” Varric, of course. Always one who wants to be in the know.

Remi turns to stand beside Dorian and face her traveling companions, eyes roving over the uncertain or uncomfortable expressions they wear. She’d been so caught up in her own relief at someone who actually knew her _before_ that she ignored those from the _after_.

“Not even going to introduce me? I suppose I must do it myself.” Dorian saves, glossing over her hesitation and shoving it away. He’s definitely grown as a person. He bows his head to her companions with a smile on his face. “Dorian of House Pavus, most recently of Minrathous. How do you do?”

Iron Bull’s face pulls into a frown, and Remi’s does the same. She’d forgotten about him still being a part of the Qun, which is made increasingly evident with each Tevinter name Dorian utters. She’s forgotten a lot of things lately. “Watch yourself. The pretty ones are always the worst.”

“Suspicious friends you have here.” Dorian teases, and Remi finds herself sighing.

On one hand, she’s known Dorian the longest. She wants to trust him because all he’s ever known is Remi, the fisherwoman who wove dream catchers for the kids at the orphanages and bought him drinks if one of his sexcapades didn’t go well.

On the other hand, she’s really only known Dorian for two weeks. He’d had to leave Rivain after that, and their vague letters to one another had never been much to go on. She’s been traveling with Varric and Solas for the better part of three months now. Iron Bull hasn’t been around that long, but he’s still been around longer than Dorian.

But Remi doesn’t want to think about the greater good right now, or the logical choice, or who needs her more than who. Remi just wants to be _happy_.

“I’m sure they’re just jealous of how beautiful you are, love.”

“As they should be.” Then Dorian turns to her, excitement making him talk more with his hands. “As you know – Alexius was once my mentor. Meaning my assistance with this little time problem will be invaluable.”

Remi doesn’t try to answer; they both already know she’ll have him back in a heartbeat. His explanation is more for her companions.

“We were kind of expecting Felix to be here.” Varric explains, and Remi nods along. The boy had his father wrapped around his finger, so she figured he’d be here by now.

“I’m sure he’s on his way.” Dorian soothes. “He was to give you the note, then meet us here after ditching his father.”

“Are you a magister?” Solas asks, hands tight around the staff that he leans against. He’s been watching Remi for quite some time, eyebrows raising slightly as he flicks his gaze between her and Dorian. He wants an explanation, but she’s not sure she wants to give him one.

The exasperation in Dorian’s voice makes Remi snort. “All right. Let’s say this once. I’m a mage from Tevinter, but not a member of the Magisterium. I know southerners use the terms interchangeably, but that only makes you sound like barbarians.”

“Did you send the note, Dorian? Were you worried about me?” Remi teases, bumping her hip against Dorian’s.

“I did. Someone had to warn you, after all.” He’s such a sweetie. Herah would be thrilled to see him again. “You’re smart. You must’ve known there was danger even without the note. Let’s start with Alexius claiming the allegiance of the mage rebels out from under you. As if by magic, yes? Which is exactly right. To reach Redcliffe before the Inquisition, Alexius distorted time itself.”

That makes more sense than Remi wants it to. She can feel her body simultaneously deflating and swelling with anger with each moment spent thinking about what Gereon has done. “Of course he did.”

“The rift you closed here-“ Dorian begins, but Remi shakes her head. The only way she couldn’t have gathered what’s going on is if she were blind or in denial. She is neither of those things. “Soon there will be more like it, and they’ll appear further and further away from Redcliffe. The magic Alexius is using is wildly unstable, and it’s unraveling the world.”

“Why can’t Gereon just be a normal dad and take Felix fishing? Why’s he feel the need to fuck around with time magic?” But Remi has a feeling she knows. The loss of his wife and the rapid decay of his son has been eating at him since it happened.

“I helped develop this magic.” Dorian offers, and Remi presses her fingers to her eyes. She should’ve just made him stay in Rivain with her. “When I was still his apprentice, it was pure theory. Alexius could never get it to work. What I don’t understand is why he’s doing it? Ripping time to shreds just to gain a few hundred lackeys?”

Gereon, while being an absolute power-hungry bitch, is not stupid. There’s a reason he’s not using his newfound time magic to try and bring his wife back or save Felix. Remi just isn’t sure what.

“He didn’t do it for them.” Speaking of Felix, here he comes.

“Took you long enough.” Dorian teases, and Remi leans around him to wave at Felix. “Is he getting suspicious?”

“No, but I shouldn’t have played the illness card. I thought he’d be fussing over me all day.”

“You’ve grown into a fantastic actor, Felix.” Remi grins, smile turning fond when Felix blushes.

“Thank you.” Then his face sets to something more serious. “My father has joined a cult. Tevinter supremacists. They call themselves ‘Venatori’. And I can tell you one thing: whatever he’s done for them, he’s done it to get to you.”

“Why would he rearrange time and enslave the mage rebellion just to get to me? Is he _still_ mad that I broke his nose?”

Felix snickers while Dorian only rolls his eyes. “They’re obsessed with you, but I don’t know why. Perhaps because you survived the Temple of Sacred Ashes?”

“You _can_ close the rifts.” Dorian jumps in. “Maybe there’s a connection? Or they see you as a threat?”

Remi wants to make a joke about how the only threat she poses to the Venatori is possibly stealing their wives, but Felix keeps talking before she can.

“If the Venatori are behind those rifts, or the Breach in the sky, they’re even worse than I thought.”

There’s panic boiling in her gut. She’s wishing fervently for the safety of the home she shares with Herah, but she holds it all in and plasters a sweet smile on her face. “All of this for me? And here I didn’t get Gereon anything.”

“Send him a fruit basket. Everyone loves those.” Varric snorts behind Remi as Dorian continues talking. It’s then that she realizes she’s standing in a close triangle with Dorian and Felix, completely cutting her companions out. “You know you’re his target. Expecting the trap is the first step in turning it to your advantage. Regardless, I can’t stay in Redcliffe. Alexius doesn’t know I’m here, and I’d like to keep it that way for now.”

“Do you want to come with us? We’re supposed to go clear out a few bandits in the area, if you’re up for it.” Remi makes the offer without thinking, stifling a wince afterwards. Her companions still don’t know who Dorian is. _She_ doesn’t even know who Dorian is, if she really takes a second to think about it.

But thinking is for losers, and Remi doesn’t want to be a loser right now.

“Spending more time with the woman of my dreams? How could I pass up an offer like that?”

Remi offers her traveling companions a sheepish smile when she turns around. She really should have taken a moment to ask them. Varric rolls with the punches, making easy conversation with Dorian. Solas and Iron Bull, on the other hand, have descended into a standoffish silence.

Fuck.

-

No one at camp, besides maybe Varric and Ilrune, likes Dorian. Granted, Dorian doesn’t really seem to like anyone else, but it still bothers her. Remi’s entire relationship with Dorian is built on unconditional acceptance, and now she’s brought him to a place where no one like him. It kind of makes her feel like she’s failed.

None of these things really matter, as the poor thing absolutely crashed out in her bedroll nearly an hour ago. Remi still sits beside the fire, a soft smile set on her lips as she pokes the logs with a stick she’d found. It feels so _good_ to have someone around who doesn’t only like her because she’s the ‘Herald of Andraste’ or the ‘sole possessor of unknown magic’. Dorian liked her before she was anything special. Dorian liked her when she was just _her_.

Varric sits beside her with a heavy thump. Solas and Iron Bull’s highly different footfalls come up behind her and move to sit where they can see her. Here it comes: the dreaded confrontation.

“There a reason you let a Tevinter into camp? Specifically, one of the ones who created this shitty time magic?” Iron Bull asks none-too-gently, crossing his thick arms over his chest and frowning at her.

“For once The Iron Bull and I are in agreement. Not only did you bring a Tevinter mage into our camp, you _believed_ him and his highly improbable simplification of what went on.” It’s Solas this time, gripping the staff that lies across his lap with white knuckled fingers.

Varric says nothing, and Remi comes to the delayed realization that he may have sat beside her for support. Iron Bull and Solas sit across as though to oppose her, scrutinizing each twitch of her body and face. But Varric sits beside her, hand resting on her thigh, hidden behind the elbow that rests on her knee. He’s making it clear that he trusts her decision, and it almost makes her want to cry.

“Listen.” Licking her dry lips, Remi hesitates. “None of you know Dorian yet, and I get that. I should’ve asked your opinion on the matter.” There are noises of agreement from the men across from her, but Remi holds up a finger to keep them quiet. “But I’m not going to apologize because I’m not sorry. Dorian is the only person here who didn’t decide to stick around because I’m some important big shot with a magic hand. Dorian knew me when I was just Remi. He _liked me_ when I was just Remi. There was no seeing passed anything because I was just me.”

A hollow laugh pushes its way out of her chest as her lungs seemingly cave inside of her. “You’re all here, and I’ll try to keep how you feel in mind from now on. But this? This was for _me_. I’m going to bed. Bye.” She pats Varric’s hand as she stands up before practically diving into her tent, careful to avoid the man already inside.

She undoes her boots and the metal plating of her armor, a content sigh leaving her as the compression of it all sets her tense muscles free. Left in only the leather leggings and cotton sweater she adores, Remi sinks heavily onto the few extra blankets she’d managed to bring. She massages her cramping calves out as she listens to Dorian’s soft muttering and deep sighs, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes.

In the hastily pitched tents around their camp – the ones that had required the few extra bedrolls they had – rest the apostates from the cave. There are soft conversations that filter through the fabric of her tent, and Remi can just pick out the soft voices of excited children.

_“Where are we going, Mama?”_

_“A place called Haven, my love.”_

_“Is the Herald going to deliver us there?”_

_“She will. She promised.”_

She doesn’t remember promising anything, but she’s forgotten a lot lately. Cold tears carve paths over her dry cheeks as she watches the mark pulse and fade under the skin of her palm. The green glow illuminates the roof of the tent and casts shadows across Dorian’s face, but she fists her hand quickly to keep it from waking him.

Remi wonders if Dorian would think less of her if he could see her cry. The person he knew in Rivain was confident and charismatic, strong shoulders and an incorruptible smile. The person she is now is riddled with self-doubt, drowning in the responsibilities that have been forced upon her, and juggling the fate of the world in her entirely too incapable hands.

Would he think less of her?

Probably.

The tent beside hers is opened, and she can hear Solas and Varric shuffling inside. Their conversation is too quiet for her to hear. Across camp, Iron Bull’s heavy footfalls come toward her tent. Remi curls in her blankets in a mild panic, lying down and trying her best to pretend to sleep. She matches her breathing to Dorian’s and hopes her beating heart isn’t as loud to Iron Bull as it is to her ears. The footfalls stop just outside of her tent before turning and moving into the tent on her other side.

It hurts, to know she’s upset them. Remi turns over to study Dorian’s features, thankful at least one person here still likes her. Varric does too, she supposes. As does Ilrune. But Solas is someone who she has come to value, and he clearly isn’t happy with her. Iron Bull is a fragile case, still predominantly a member of the Qun – a Ben-Hassrath, to be frank – but also someone who has seen her near her worst and done absolutely nothing to make fun of her. It’s probably in his reports, though.

“You think incredibly loud.” Dorian murmurs across from her, eyes squinting to make her out in the darkness. She doesn’t say anything in response, holding her breath and hoping he just goes back to sleep. He doesn’t, instead reaching his hand from inside of her bedroll and stretching it toward her. She places her own hand in his hesitantly, eyebrows furrowing when he simply huffs and closes his eyes again.

“Dorian?”

“I’m sleeping.”

“Okay.”

-

Cassandra is waiting anxiously by the stables when their party returns, completely missing Dorian in her haste to herd Remi away.

“Rosemarie, what did you do?”

Not the way Remi wanted to be greeted, but she isn’t going to fight the way Cassandra is holding her wrist. She throws a wave over her shoulder, waggling her eyebrows at Dorian in hopes he’ll catch on. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Seeker Pentaghast.”

“Don’t ‘Seeker Pentaghast’ me, Rose.” Cassandra tugs them in between a few cabins and away from prying eyes, letting go of Remi’s wrist and spinning to face her. “Why is there a _Tevinter Magister_ requesting your presence? What did you _do_?!”

“Oh. I punched him.”

“YOU PUN-“ she lowers her voice quickly, cheeks reddening in anger. “You _punched_ a _Tevinter Magister_? Rose! I left you alone for _two weeks_. How did you have time to-”

Remi smooshes Cassandra’s cheeks between her hands, effectively stopping her reprimand. “I punched him in Rivain, Cass. Nearly a decade ago. Now he wants to negotiate the terms of ‘releasing the mages’ with me. Which basically means, ‘I’m going to trick you into coming to see me and then I’ll kill you because I’m evil and have to do evil things.’”

Cassandra snorts, a smile pushing the corners of her full lips into an odd position. Remi moves her hands away then, tucking her hands behind her back and fighting the blush from her cheeks. Cassandra forces the smile from her face, her earlier anger bleeding away to concern.

“This is dangerous, Rose. I would never forgive myself if I let you die.”

It’s easy not to say anything about the mark slowly but surely eating her when she’s more focused on Cassandra actually caring about her. However, saying anything at all becomes difficult when she really studies the way Cassandra looks at her. Finally, her heavy tongue forms words. “I’m prone to danger, Cass. You know that.”

A bitter laugh escapes Cassandra’s lips, an eye roll chasing after it’s company. “That I do. We should head to the Chantry. Josephine may faint if we don’t discuss what’s happened with her.”

“Heh, maybe don’t mention to her that I’ve broken a Tevinter Magister’s nose.”

“I won’t if you won’t.”

“Deal.”

Remi catches a glimpse of Dorian being borderline harassed by one of the soldiers, and she sighs in relief when Varric comes to his rescue. She makes eye contact with both men just before disappearing into the Chantry, nudging her head at Dorian to beckon him along. He’s waves at her, a mischievous smirk lighting up his features.

She holds the War Room door open for Cassandra, waving at the other people in the room as the door thuds shut. Cassandra stands beside her, leveling Cullen with a stern look. The tension in the room is thick enough to cut with her ax, and Remi wishes she’d run to help her friends.

“We have to take Redcliffe Castle.” Cassandra says, jutting a hip to the side as though she’s scolding a child. Remi flinches as the tension bursts. This was apparently an argument that had been going on long before she got back. Probably since Leliana’s scouts reported in, or the request arrived.

“We don’t have the manpower to take the castle!” Cullen half-exclaims, hands gripping the pommel of his sword. “Either we find another way in, or give up this nonsense and go get the Templars!” Cassandra remains calm, stance still stern and scolding.

“Redcliffe is in the hands of a magister. This cannot be allowed to stand.”

Josephine taps her quill against her writing board. “The letter from Alexius asked for the Herald of Andraste by name. Specifically, by ‘Remi’. It’s an obvious trap.”

“I’m not leaving those people to become slaves.” Remi responds, arms crossed over her chest and anger flaring in her lungs. She doesn’t need their approval to break Gereon’s nose again.

“And yet some of us want to sit and do nothing.” Leliana says, throwing a pointed look at both Josephine and Cullen. The former frowns, eyebrows furrowing.

“Not this again.”

“Redcliffe castle is one of the most defensible fortresses in Ferelden. It has repelled thousands of assaults.” Cullen defends before turning to face Remi, attempting to convince her. “If you go in there, you’ll die. And we’ll lose the only means we have of closing these rifts. I won’t allow it.”

Remi scoffs, a snarl forming on her lips. “I don’t need your _permission_ , Commander.”

Leliana is thankfully on her side, leaning forward to almost speak down to Cullen. “And if we don’t even try to meet Alexius, we lose the mages and leave a hostile foreign power on our doorstep!”

“Even if we assault the keep, it would be for naught.” Josephine states, beginning to wave her quill around in exasperation. “An ‘Orlesian’ Inquisition’s army marching into Ferelden would provoke a war. Our hands are tied.”

“The magister-“ Cullen cuts Cassandra off, and Remi fights the urge to jump to her defense. Old habits die hard.

“Has outplayed us.”

Remi’s hands fist into the chainmail on her thighs, taking comfort in the cool metal against her fingertips. “Truthfully, I don’t care what you do. But _I_ am going to go break Gereon’s nose _again_ and save these people from a life of enslavement. There _has_ to be another way, and I don’t want to hear another negative thing about this.”

“We cannot accept defeat now.” Cassandra agrees. “There must be a solution.”

“Other than the main gate, there’s got to be another way inside the castle. A sewer? A water course? Something?” Remi pleads to Leliana, hoping the woman and her plethora of knowledge has some inkling of a way inside.

“There’s nothing I know of that would work.” Cullen answers instead, and Remi clenches her jaw. She’s going to punch him if he doesn’t stop butting in.

As though sensing her intended course of action, Leliana mutters, “Wait.” Remi refocuses on her, anxiety peeking in her chest. “There is a secret passage into the castle. An escape route for the family. It’s too narrow for our troops, but we could send agents through.”

“Too risky.” Cullen butts in. “Those agents will be discovered well before we reach the magister.”

“That’s why we need a distraction.” Leliana soothes. “Perhaps the envoy Alexius wants so badly?”

“Focus their attention on Trevelyan while we take out the Tevinters. It’s risky, but it could work.”

Remi bristles at Cullen’s choice of address, though her protest is cut off when the door is flung open behind her. A grin splits her face at the sound of Dorian’s voice. “Fortunately, you’ll have help.” Dorian stops beside her and Remi waves at the scout who chases frantically after him.

“This man says he has information about the magister and his methods. Commander.”

Throwing an arm around Dorian’s shoulder, Remi can’t help but laugh in relief. “Hello, my love.”

“Hello, darling.” He replies, winding his arm around her waist and regarding the advisors. “Your spies will never get passed Alexius’ magic without my help. So if you’re going after him, I’m coming along.”

Cullen continues to frown at Dorian, and Remi pointedly ignores the looks he keeps shooting Cassandra. Then the Commander turns to her, eyebrows furrowing as he makes one last attempt to sell her on the Templars. “This plan puts you in the most danger. We can’t, in good conscience, order you to do this. We can still go get the Templars if you’d rather not play the bait. It’s up to you.”

He visibly deflates when Remi only continues to smile at him. “Don’t worry, Cullen.” She teases, the malice she feels thankfully staying out of her voice. “I won’t throw the mark away for nothing.”

“I’m coming with you.” Cassandra states firmly, leaving no room for question. When Remi turns to her, the Seeker’s hazel eyes are trained on Dorian’s hand that rests snuggly on the curve of her hip. Remi raises and eyebrow when those eyes flick upward, and Cassandra huffs in response. “We’ve already discussed how you are prone to danger. Letting you go alone is a death sentence.”

It’s Remi’s turn to scoff. “I’m perfectly capable of-“

“She’s not wrong, Remi.” Dorian cuts in. “You fell down a number of stairs back in Rivain.”

“Those stairs attacked me!”

“Mhm.”

Leliana clears her throat, a small smirk dancing across her cheeks as she flicks her gaze between Remi and Cassandra. Remi flushes, pursing her lips and raising an eyebrow. Leliana raises one of her own in retaliation, and Remi flushes darker.

“Ah, gay communication. How I’ve missed it.” Dorian whispers to her, and Remi bites back a laugh. Her shoulders shake as she holds it in, lips pressing into a thin line.

“We’ll set out tomorrow morning. Lady Trevelyan, make sure you’ve chosen who will be going with you. And Dorian, we will find someplace for you to stay for the night before we head out tomorrow.” Leliana runs through it all, still smirking to herself.

Dorian nods, beginning to turn and dragging Remi with him. “Thank you, dear Spymaster. Now, Remi, what do they have to eat here in the south?”

“Not much, unfortunately.” She answers, waving over her shoulder at the people in the War Room. Cassandra still watches her closely, gaze growing almost sad. Remi turns away as quickly as she can without it seeming rushed. They avoid Vivienne’s blazing glare as they leave the Chantry, making their way toward the tavern.

People still avoid Dorian like the plague, not that either of them are surprised, so they grab their dinner’s and head back to Remi’s cabin. Dorian takes a seat on her desk while Remi strips of her armor, only taking a seat on her bed when she’s left in nothing but her too-big cotton sweater and her small clothes.

“This is terribly bland.” Dorian comments just as Remi pulls her sack of spices from her satchel.

“Most of the south is. Bland and cold and kind of bigoted, actually. I’ve found the further northwest you go, the better everything is.”

“Rivain being the best?”

“But of course.”

Remi tosses her spice sack to him, absentmindedly mixing her food as she watches him marvel at the assortment of spices inside. Dorian mixes his own choice of spices into his food, a grin pushing the corners of his mustache up when he tastes it. “This is fantastic.”

They both eat a few bites before Dorian crosses his legs, a devious grin spreading across his lips. “That angry woman was _not_ pleased with how we held each other. Care to explain?”

“Not really.” Remi responds, pushing the meat chunks around with her spoon. Dorian hums in understanding.

“I can respect that.” After a pause, his grin flutters back onto is face. “Your Commander is positively dashing. Do you know if he’s seeing anyone?”

She rolls her eyes in response, swallowing the little bit of broth and taking a sip of her water. “He’s a Templar, Dori. He’s also straight.”

Dorian pouts in response, sticking his tongue out when Remi laughs at him. “Why do the straight men always have to be so appealing.”

“They’re unattainable, love. That’s usually the only reason we want them.”

-

She only gets to bring two people with her, and it’s bugging her to no end.

No one else in her party is fond of Dorian, so of course she brought Varric. That’s where she’d have stopped, but Cassandra insisted she come as well. Now there are two people with her, making three people in total, and Remi can’t stop fidgeting.

Varric has taken notice of it and tells stories in hopes of distracting her, but he is forced to quiet himself when they’re approached by Venatori and escorted to the door. Remi plasters a cocky smirk on her face, sets her shoulders confidently, and banishes the shaking of her hands. If there’s one thing being a merchant has taught her, it’s how to lie.

“Announce us.” She demands to the Venatori who stands before her, challenging him with her eyes. An oily blond man walks up to them, hands covered in gloves too big for his arms.

“The magister’s invitation was for Mistress Trevelyan alone. The rest will wait here.”

Which still doesn’t solve her odd number problem, but oh well. “If my friends can’t enter, then I won’t go in either.” Cassandra comes to stand just to her left, keeping her eyes on the men around them. Varric sighs to himself and comes to stand at her other side.

Remi meets the man’s angry stare with a shrug of her shoulders, smiling in satisfaction when he nods and begins to lead them up the stairs. She pretends not to see the Venatori follow them, eyes instead finding Gereon atop his stolen throne. The three of them come to stand before them, the announcer doing his job from off to the side.

“My lord magister, the agents of the Inquisition have arrived.”

Gereon pretends to finally notice them, rising from the throne and opening his mouth to address her.

“Hey, Felix.” She cuts in, a real grin spreading across her face when Gereon falters. “You feeling any better?”

“Hello. I’m feeling much less faint, yes. Thank you for asking.”

Gereon clears his throat to bring the attention back to himself. “It’s good of you to join us. And your… associates, of course. I’m sure we can work out some arrangement that is equitable to all parties.”

“Are we mages to have no voice in deciding our fate?”

Remi doesn’t even let Alexius get out whatever it is he’d intended to say, working her jaw to keep the snarl from her lips as she addresses Fiona. “ _You_ don’t get to speak for the mages. _I_ will be doing that for you, since you can’t seem to be trusted not to sell hundreds of people into enslavement.”

“Now, Remi. These people are not _slaves_. They are simply… indentured to myself and the whole of Tevinter.”

“Do you believe yourself a jester, Gereon?” Remi shoots back, crossing her arms across her chest and pinning him with a frown. “Corrupt magisters such as yourself don’t do ‘indentured’. You do enslaved, or you do dead. That _is_ the way you like your blood magic, isn’t it? Tortured and unwilling?”

Gereon bristles, turning away from her and sitting dramatically in his stolen throne. She still watches him with patronizing eyes, daring him to try and get back at her. He doesn’t, instead moving on with his pretenses of negotiation. “The Inquisition needs mages to close the Breach, and I have them. So, what shall you offer in exchange?”

The smirk that spreads across her lips is dangerous as she watches him. It takes a few moments before she makes her suggestion. “What about a broken nose?”

“Excuse me?!” Gereon exclaims, visibly affronted. The flames in the room flare with his temper, and Felix steps in.

“She knows everything, Father.”

Gereon’s voice grows tight. “Felix, what have you done?”

“We made sure to disarm your trap before we came in. I hope you don’t mind.” She still feels the smallest amount of sympathy for him. Remi knows a thing or two about doing _anything_ for family.

“I’ve yet to see your cleverness, I’m afraid.” Gereon sneers. “You walk into my stronghold with your stolen mark – a gift you don’t even understand – and think you’re in control? You’re nothing but a mistake.”

_This was a mistake, Rosemarie. I never loved you._

“If you know so much, enlighten me. Tell me what this mark on my hand is for.”

“It belongs to your betters. You wouldn’t even begin to understand it’s purpose.”

Remi snarls, hands fisting at her sides. “So how do you understand it, Gereon? You were bested by a _mistake_ of all things. Surely you make claims to knowledge you don’t even possess.”

“Father,” Felix pleads, “listen to yourself! Do you know what you sound like?”

“He sounds exactly like the sort of villainous cliché everyone expects us to be.” Remi nearly sags in relief at the sound of Dorian’s voice.

Gereon utters his name in disappointment. “I gave you a chance to be a part of this. You turned me down. The Elder One has power you would not believe. He will raise the Imperium from its own ashes.”

“What could possibly be better than turning back time, oh great and knowledgeable one?” Remi mocks, matching the fire in Gereon’s gaze with some of her own.

“He will make the world bow before mages once more. We will rule from the Boeric Ocean to the Frozen Seas.”

“You can’t involve my people in this!” Fiona exclaims, and for once Remi finds herself in agreement.

“Alexius,” Dorian implores, “this is exactly what you and I talked about _never_ wanting to happen! Why would you support this?”

“Stop it, Father.” Felix demands. “Give up the Venatori. Let the southern mages fight the Breach, and let’s go home.”

“No! It’s the only way, Felix. He can save you!”

There it is. _There it is._ Remi had known it had something to do with Felix’s sickness, she’d just been waiting for him to admit it. She understands so deeply why Gereon is doing the things he’s doing. She would move Heaven and Earth for her own family; it is unsurprising that he is willing to do the same.

“There _is_ a way. The Elder One promised.” Gereon’s head snaps in her direction, eyes taking on an almost deranged look. “If I undo the mistake at the Temple…”

“I’m going to die.” Felix states harshly, and Varric inhales sharply beside her. “You need to accept that.”

Gereon ignores his son, jabbing a finger directly at Remi. “Seize them, Venatori! The Elder One Demands this woman’s life!”

The only answer to his command is the strangled sounds of the dead and dying, and a triumphant smirk worms its way onto Remi’s face. “Do you see my cleverness now, Gereon?”

“You… are a mistake! You should never have existed!” He shouts in reply, an amulet floating above his palm. The fire behind him reaches a new height as the amulet glows green.

“No!” Dorian yells in protest, throwing magic at Gereon and causing him to stumble.

Remi feels like she’s suffocating when the portal swallows her up, turning over her shoulder and reaching for Cassandra in her panic. The Seeker uncovers her eyes just as she disappears, mouth open in a wordless scream.

She sinks to her knees in the water she falls into, pushing herself up just as quickly and taking her ax in both hands. Dorian pushes himself out of the water as well, panicked eyes snapping to the cell door that is thrown open. The man in the door cries some kind of curse, though it is lost in a gurgle of pain when Dorian sends fire directly into his throat. Remi charges the other man who’d come in, downing him with one swing and lodging him in the barred door so it won’t shut.

“Dorian?” she breathes, panic swelling in her throat as tears gather behind her eyes. The man in question seems more fascinated than anything else, grasping his goatee and looking around.

“Displacement? Interesting!”

Remi can’t focus, mind still reeling with the emotions she’s collected through the day. The mark spasms in response, but there’s something else. There’s a pressure pushing in from all sides of her brain, squeezing her lungs and heart with it. Something is very, very wrong.

“Dorian.”

All she can hear is the Breach: it’s everywhere. Its very essence seeps through the walls, falling like rain onto the soles of her feet. Her brain is too full, thoughts racing with the dawning realization.

“This isn’t displacement, Dorian.”

He turns to her, eyes widening in a mild amount of concern. “What do you mean?”

“I can hear the Breach. I’ve only been able to hear the Breach at Haven. This isn’t displacement.”

Dorian sloshes toward her, hands coming to rest on her forearms as though to soothe her. “So it’s not simply where – it’s when! Alexius used the amulet as a focus. It moved us through time!”

“Did we go forward in time, or back? And how far?” She’s hoping he knows, but she also knows it’s a longshot. The panic gets pushed down with her tears, and Remi fights around the Breach colored haze in her head.

“Let’s look around, see where the rift took us.” Dorian finally says, sounding about as somber as she feels. “Then we can figure out how to get back… if we can.”

Remi doesn’t ask the question that’s dancing on the edge of her tongue, instead placing her ax back onto her back and drawing her largest knife. The ax is too heavy to keep carrying in one hand, and if someone sneaks up on her, she’ll need to be quick.

They wander through the prison halls and eventually come to a set of stairs that splits in two directions. The red lyrium on the walls is terrifying.

“You need to put barriers over both of us, Dori. Prolonged exposure to this stuff isn’t good.”

The barrier that slides over her is warm, a reflection of Dorian’s magic. Unlike Solas’ cold barrier, Dorian’s feels like a hug. It makes Remi really wish Herah was here to hug her. Fuck, if she wouldn’t kill to know if Herah was okay.

“Alexius has made a dreadful mess of this place, hasn’t he?” Dorian asks offhandedly, nudging a piece of the crumbled wall with his toe.

Remi shrugs in response, opening a chest and snorting at the magic rings she finds inside. “I didn’t see this part of the castle.”

“It was covered in the tackiest carvings of wolves and dogs I’d ever seen. This is not an improvement.”

“That’s Ferelden for you.”

They head back down the stairs and then up the other set, pushing the door open into another set of prison cells. They continue down the hall until they push open yet another door. Remi coughs at the acidic taste of red lyrium in the air, checking with Dorian to make sure the barriers are still up. She turns back to face forward at his affirmation but stutters to a halt, jaw dropping as she looks into the only occupied cell.

There stands the young elven boy she’d met nearly two weeks ago. His name escapes her, not that it seems to matter. His chanting is eerie, and it drags old tears to Remi’s eyes.

_My tears are my sins, Knight Captain._

_Good, Rose. Banish them and accept the Maker into your heart._

Dorian nudges her away, gifting her with empty reassurances that they can fix this. That doesn’t matter either. Tears are quickly replaced with rage, and Remi takes great joy in throwing one of the Venatori that charges them on the hanging platform into the abyss below them. Dorian sets the other one on fire, and Remi stabs directly through the eye of their mask. She kicks their corpse into the abyss, too.

The door to their left leads to a set of stairs, and the stairs lead to another door, which leads to another set of stairs, which leads to _another door_ , and through that door they find Fiona. She’s nearly encased in red lyrium, and Remi has to stop herself from throwing up. She can make out the silhouette of Fiona’s bones through the tainted crystal.

“You’re… alive? How?” Her voice is breathy and pained, the arm she supports herself with impossibly skinny. Her robes hang from what’s left of her dying body. “I saw you… disappear… into the rift.”

There’s no point in letting feelings cloud her. The fog of the Breach has been pushed far enough away that she can form a few coherent thoughts, and she needs to work while she’s ahead. “What is the date? I need to know how much time has passed.”

“Harvestmere. 9:42 Dragon.”

It’s been an entire year.

Dorian echoes her thoughts in disbelief.

“We have to get out of here.” Remi states the obvious, hands fisting nervously in the chainmail on her thighs. “Go back in time.”

“Please… stop this from happening. Alexius… serves the Elder One. More powerful… than the Maker… no one… challenges him and lives.”

“I promise, I will do everything in my power to set things right.” The promise is heavy on her tongue, bitter when she swallows it down. Remi hates making promises.

Dorian’s hand come to rest on her back as he moves closer to her. “Our only hope is to find the amulet that Alexius used to send us here. If it still exists, I can use it to reopen the rift at the exact spot we left. Maybe.”

“Good.” Fiona breathes.

“I said _maybe_. It might also turn us into paste.”

It’s wrong of Remi to be okay with that idea. Her shoulders are heavier under the weight of more responsibilities, tongue like led as she sorts through her thoughts. She wants to go _home_.

“Your spymaster, Leliana… she is here. Find her. Quickly… before the Elder One… learns you’re here.” Fiona seems to faint after she’s finished speaking, eyes rolling back in her head as a red tinted foam dribbles passed her lips. Remi turns from her quickly, grabbing Dorian’s hand and dragging him from the room.

“Remi, are you all right?” She’s not. She can’t remember the last time she was.

“I’m fine.”

She doesn’t let go of his hand until they’ve once more crossed the hanging platform and made their way down the stairs through the other door. They head down the first flight of stairs and pause for only a moment. No noise is heard so they continue down the next flight, stopping when they hear a voice. Dorian inhales sharply just as the breath leaves Remi’s lungs entirely.

It's so familiar yet eerily broken. Like two voices from the same mouth, passing through the same lips she’d kissed a thousand times. Remi doesn’t want to open the door, to see whoever is connected to that voice, whatever might be masquerading as the woman she once loved. She doesn’t want to see.

Against her better judgment, Remi pushes the door open.

She wishes she hadn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im sorry about the last chapter being so short and kind of irrelevant, but endgame fucked me up you guys. that's 10 years of my life coming to an e n d. my whole childhood has just been uprooted
> 
> just like im bout to uproot remi's whole life ayeeeeeee


	11. Souvenirs of Guilt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ah, yes. The crippling fate of the world once more settles on her shoulders. How delicious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry i'm late, but i hope you enjoy it regardless. please point out any spelling errors you find!

Cassandra had always been a woman of power and certainty.

Even when she was young and wouldn’t go anywhere near the gross bugs she made Anthony kill, Cassandra had always exuded power. No one drew attention like she did, no one captivated like she did. Cassandra was, and always would be, one of the most enrapturing people to ever waste their breath on Remi.

Cassandra is power and grace and courage. Cassandra is certainty where there is none, reassurance when the world fails. Cassandra is gentle hands and few words, chaste kisses and lingering laughter. Cassandra made every flex of her fingers count, every breath she took and released. Cassandra is harsh angles and soft curves, humoring smiles and enthusiastic gaze. Cassandra could qualify as life itself.

The woman in this cell is too skinny, too afraid. Her clothes – Cassandra’s clothes – are too big on her too small body. The leathers that had once been skin tight now hang from her, and oily hair now hangs near her chin instead of being cropped close to her head. Molten prayers that have lost their meaning tumble from her lips in a mantra, hazel eyes faded to some hazy pink. This woman _can’t_ be Cassandra.

“You’ve returned to me?”

But it is.

Cassandra stumbles when she tries to stand, legs barely strong enough to support the weight of her bones. She leans against the wall behind her, red tinted tears carving ravines through the dirt and dust caked on her cheeks.

“Can it be? Has Andraste given me another chance? Maker forgive me, I failed you. I failed everyone. The end must truly be upon us if the dead return to the living.” Remi finally picks the lock, breath catching when Cassandra barrels into her arms. The Seeker shudders, gripping Remi as tightly as she can manage. “Maybe _I_ am dying. Are you here to take me away, My Rose?”

Cassandra is so skinny – too skinny – when Remi wraps her arms around her shoulders. She could snap her in half if she really wanted to, and the thought is not comforting. “No- no. Gereon sent Dorian and I through time.” But Cassandra doesn’t seem to be listening, hands sliding up Remi’s body to cup her face.

“You are just as beautiful as the day I lost you, My Rose.” She breathes, dragging her dirty thumb across Remi’s wet cheek. “If this is a chance to tell you what I never got to before I die, I won’t wait any longer.”

“Cassie…”

Cassandra presses her thumb against Remi’s lips to silence her, a small hush slipping from her mouth. “I lied to you all those years ago. I didn’t mean it when I told you I didn’t love you. That’s why I couldn’t come tell you in person. And all these days waiting for you to come back, and all these days knowing you wouldn’t, made me realize I love you again. I love you so much, My Rose.”

Long dead and buried feelings swirl inside of Remi’s lungs like a hurricane, broken fingers of old thoughts twisting and shredding her heart to pieces.

This can’t be. Cassandra had _never_ loved her.

Yet even so, cracked and bleeding lips meet her own, the acid taste of red lyrium dancing on the tongue Cassandra half-forces in her mouth. Remi jerks back and away, spitting the taste from her mouth with a shudder, and trying to ignore the devastated look on Cassandra’s face. She can’t do this right now. She _can’t_.

“Rose…”

“Can it, Cass. I can’t ingest red lyrium, and you know that.”

The Seeker looks so resigned where she stands that Remi gathers her in her arms once more against her better judgement. Cassandra melts into her, small sobs passing onto the skin of her neck.

“I’m sorry. I’ve missed you so dearly, and now you’re back. I’m sorry.” Cassandra moves to say more, mouth opening and closing in her absence of words. Both women laugh, and Remi tucks an oily strand of hair behind Cassandra’s ear.

“Looks like you’re lacking words again.”

Cassandra scoffs, pink eyes gazing into Remi’s in unadulterated adoration. “I’ve always been that way, My Rose. You know that.”

“Yeah.” Remi’s response is curt, eyes glancing away in an attempt to dispel the awkward feeling in her chest. When things had first ended between them, this was all she’d dreamt about. Holding and being held by Cassandra, loving and being loved by Cassandra.

But this? This was nowhere close to anything she’d pictured. Because Cassandra is too skinny and she looks like she’s drugged and Remi _doesn’t love her back_.

“Remi? I found Varric.” Dorian’s voice has her tearing herself away from Cassandra, gratitude swelling inside of her to the point that it’s nearly draining.

“Great. Okay, cool. Is he corrupted too?”

“I sure am, Songbird. Haven’t lost my wits yet, though.”

Varric has lost something, though. He’s too skinny, the normal stockiness of a dwarf lost to him. He’s grown a beard as well, and his hair has grown long enough to hang just passed his shoulders. His eyes are tinted the same pink as Cassandra’s.

Both Cassandra and Varric fish their weapons from a room near the cells, which Dorian and Remi agree was really a poor choice on the Venatori’s part. They don’t comment on how their companions struggle to wield their weapons. The muscle they’d possessed from long years of training is gone, giving way to bony limbs and strangled breaths. Remi is grotesquely surprised they can even hold themselves up.

“What’d I miss, Varric?”

Varric gives her a rundown of how Alexius isn’t the one she needs to fear, but his Elder One. This doesn’t really come as a surprise to her, though the Elder One’s supposed assassination of the Empress of Orlais and his demon army definitely do.

“Do either of you know where Alexius is?” Dorian asks the room, all eyes turning to Cassandra when she speaks.

“The guards have said Alexius never leaves the throne room as of late.”

“So that’s where we go. I’m sure you’re all thrilled I know my way there.” Dorian comments, twirling his staff in his hand before leaning on it.

Remi hums in agreement, trying to ignore the way Cassandra moves closer to her and attempts to take her hand. She coughs and moves toward Dorian, nodding her head toward the door. “You ready to find Leliana?”

“Nightingale is here?” Varric perks up, bushy eyebrows rising toward his receding hairline. “How do you know?”

Dorian hesitates, glancing at Remi for permission. She shrugs in response, unsure if telling their companions of Fiona’s probable demise is the best idea. “We just… overheard it. From a guard.” Dorian finally settles on, eyebrows furrowing when Remi nods a little too enthusiastically.

“We need to get moving.” Remi cuts off the conversation before Varric can push the topic further. “The longer we wait, the worse things get. I’m sure Leliana can help us out of here. She’s resourceful.” She quotes one of the first things she’d ever heard Varric say about Leliana, the words bringing a small bit of comfort to her with the truth they carry. Leliana is capable and deadly. If anyone could have survived this long unscathed, it’s her.

-

Unscathed was the wrong word.

“How did Trevelyan know about the sacrifice at the temple? Answer!”

Remi wasn’t sure she’d ever stop shaking.

“Never.”

A pained grunt. How fast does she have to run down this hallway to make it stop?

“There’s no use to this defiance, _Little Bird_. There’s no one left for you to protect.”

The door is so close.

“You’re wasting your breath.”

It’s a scream this time, tearing at Remi’s insides.

“Talk!”

Whoever is behind that door will die a painful death at her hands. Finding the door locked, she uses the fury building inside of her to kick the door open and off of its hinges. It careens inside, knocking over one of the tables that is covered in torture tools. The Venatori who had been holding a knife to Leliana’s neck jerks away from her.

In his distraction, Leliana uses what little strength she has to wrap her legs around the Venatori’s neck, throwing her hips to the left and snapping the man’s neck. She drops his body like a sack of potatoes, her own thin frame swinging on the chains. The energy she exerted seems to have stemmed from emotion alone, head falling forward as she shudders.

Remi pulls the key ring from the Venatori’s belt, pulling the one she hopes will open Leliana’s shackles, and jamming it into the lock. Whatever luck she seems to carry around on her shoulders surges through her fingertips and lets the key fit.

“You’re alive?” Leliana breathes, stumbling into Remi once her feet have hit the ground. Remi holds her tightly, trying not to let on to how positively terrified yet equally enraged she is. Humor covers up everything, doesn’t it?

“Well, that was impressive.”

A little gayer than what she was going for, but Leliana’s hollow cheeks pull upwards ever so slightly nonetheless.

“Anger is stronger than any pain.” She responds, pushing away from Remi slowly to stand on her own. A year of torture has made her limbs skinny, bones fragile, but it’s exactly as she’d said. It has made her more angry than anything else, a sentiment Remi shares. “Do you have weapons? Good. The magister’s probably in his chambers.” Leliana leaves no room for argument, walking toward the bow and quiver lying against the wall.

“You… aren’t curious how we got here?” Dorian asks her, brows furrowing in confusion as he moves to stand beside Remi.

Leliana dismisses him easily, shouldering the quiver and testing the bow’s string.

“Alexius sent us into the future. This, his victory, his Elder One- it was never meant to be.”

Remi knows Dorian doesn’t mean to sound insensitive. He’s going about this as though this isn’t real, and she understands that. But her friends have been tortured, beaten, and bruised. “I’m so sorry for everything you’ve suffered.”

And it is _entirely_ her fault.

“We have to reverse his spell.” Dorian continues, and Remi fights a wince. “If we can get back to our present time, we can prevent this future from ever happening.”

Leliana snarls, anger distorting the already broken features of her face. “And mages always wonder why people fear them… No one should have this power.”

_I’ve known mages. Some of them were better people than me. And yet I am free, and they are not. It’s not right._

Sickness whirls between Remi’s lungs, stealing her breath like ice water. Leliana had supported the mages, actively fought for them, even loved one. How had this happened? What had Gereon _done_?

Dorian tries to defend mages, but Remi wishes he would just stop talking. Trying to explain someone’s trauma to them will never work. Chances are, he’s only making Leliana feel invalid and irrelevant.

“Enough! This is all pretend to you, some future you hope will never exist. I suffered. The whole world suffered. It was real.” Rage contorts her face, shaking her shoulders and shattering the image Remi had held of Leliana in her head for so long. The worst part is: she’s right. It’d be so much easier to believe this is fake, or just a dream.

But the ghost of Cassandra’s fingertips against her own say otherwise. The sway in Varric’s steps say otherwise. The raw emotion on Leliana’s visage say otherwise. The smell of the dungeons, and the lingering taste of red lyrium, say otherwise. Everything _screams_ otherwise like a warning bell in her ears, rattling her brain with the sheer reality of it all.

And it is _entirely_ her fault.

Remi swallows her panic, desperately trying not to think about how this could have all been avoided if she’d simply not fucked up. If she’d paid more attention, or predicted Gereon’s erratic reaction to being bested. She’d threatened the wellbeing of his son; she should’ve known.

Cassandra threads her fingers through Remi’s, grounding her with the sudden physical contact. She shudders, taking in a deep breath and squeezing Cassandra’s hand before removing herself entirely. They need a leader, and it looks like she’s the only one who actually cares about everyone else’s feelings.

“We need to get moving. Gereon may wait for us, but I highly doubt his Elder One will.” She gives them all a moment to gather themselves, sparing a glance at Varric when he pushes himself away from the wall he’d been leaning on. They head down the hall in a cautious silence that Dorian feels the need to break.

“What happened while we were away?”

Leliana seems to have also had enough, as she snaps a curt, “Stop talking.”

“I’m just asking for information.”

“No. You’re talking to fill silence.” Judging from the way Dorian shies away from her, she’s hit the nail on the head. “Nothing happened that you want to hear.”

Remi finally finds the key to the door, pushing it open and sighing when she comes across another hanging platform. She makes eyes at Dorian, relief flooding her when he catches on and moves to herd Varric and Cassandra away from the edge. They’re already unsteady, and the last thing she wants is to watch them die.

She unlocks the next door, jerking backwards when she’s hit by a wraith the second she opens the door. The mark made no indication that a rift had been here, yet one crackles near the ceiling on the wall to her right. In fact, the mark is pushed so heavily into her skin that she’d forgotten it was there.

Remi moves into the room and looks for cover, swearing when she finds none. Her traveling companions have taken up different places around the room and are fighting their own wraiths, so she barrels through Cassandra’s and ducks behind her shield.

“What are you doing?”

“I need to concentrate! I can’t close the rift if one of them hits me.”

The mark doesn’t want to reach for the rift, but she’s done this before. Remi doesn’t give a shit what the mark wants right now. She pushes around its stubbornness and grasps the tendrils of magic, sighing when the rift begins to knit closed and drags the wraiths inside. Dorian freezes one just as Leliana shatters it, and then the rift snaps shut.

Remi is thankful the fighting is anticlimactic. She’s not sure how much her companions can take- how long it will be before their bodies give up on them. Cassandra and Varric are both in different stages of consumption, the red lyrium they have been exposed to (and in Cassandra’s case, fed) has taken its toll on their bodies. Leliana is very nearly a walking skeleton, seeming to only be standing by sheer force of will.

“How the fuck did a rift get in here?” Varric asks, gazing a little too longingly at the red lyrium growing up the wall. Dorian nudges him gently with his staff in the other direction, shrugging in response.

“Alexius’ contortion of the Veil may be causing rifts to appear further and further below ground.”

From her place by the gate on the far wall, Remi sees Leliana close herself off even further. She clearly knows something the others don’t, but Remi doesn’t want to push it. If she felt it relevant, she’d say something.

The mark spasms aggressively when Remi attempts to open the gate, the intensity of it nearly sending her to her knees. She sucks in a surprised breath and braces herself against the wall, flexes her fingers slowly, and ignores the hand Cassandra places on her back.

“What’s wrong with the mark?” Dorian prods curiously, moving as close as he can to get a look at it.

Telling him that the mark is slowly but surely instilling a sense of fear inside of her – a fear other than her own – is not an option. Telling these already stressed people that something other than the immediate time travel problem is happening is not an option. “I just haven’t closed a rift in a while, is all.”

She cranks the gate open and gives them a forced smile before leading them up the stairs. She can hear it before she sees it, the sound of waves lapping against a dock. It’s almost comforting enough to distract her from the apparent blood sacrifice happening just out of her field of vision.

“The magister needs more power for his rituals.”

Leliana doesn’t give either of them time to finish, lodging in arrow into each of their skulls in quick succession. She brushes Dorian’s shocked expression away, notching another arrow in preparation. “There is no one worth saving here except you two. I will not take any risks.”

Remi nudges Dorian around the docks, face screwing up in surprise when she very nearly trips. Dorian yanks her forearm to right her, nearly sending them both careening into the water below.

“You okay over there, Songbird? Sparkler?”

“Yeah.” Remi turns to inspect whatever it was that tripped her, eyebrows rising in surprise when she finds the largest razor she’s ever seen. There’s a rune glowing like red lyrium in the handle. It spells disaster, but the mark is already taking her hand and wrapping it around the handle. _‘Take.’_ She tests the weight of it in her hands before discarding the ax she’d been carrying around, and straps the razor in its place.

“Are you really sure you should be doing that?” Dorian asks her warily, watching as she picks her ax back up and twirls it in her hands. “That doesn’t seem… safe.”

“When am I ever sure about anything, Dori? Just let me have this.” The hum from the rune distracts her from the ever-growing green haze in her head, blocking the heaviness that has been settling behind her eyes for the half hour they’ve been stuck here. The higher they’ve climbed, the worse it’s gotten, and Remi thinks it may burst.

They move up the next flight of stairs and Remi stops for only a moment to squint at the veilfire, trying to make out the whispers that comes from it in droves. Takes the next set of stairs three at a time, ignoring Cassandra’s glances when she pushes open the door to the courtyard. A pillar of red lyrium points directly into the sky, drawing Remi’s gaze to what used to be an expanse of blue.

_Used to be_ , being the most prominent thought.

“The Breach! It’s…”

“Everywhere.” Dorian finishes for her, eyes turned skyward in horrified awe.

It feels as though her brain implodes, sending Remi to her knees with her head in her hands. The mark spasms dangerously in her palm, eating away at the tissue of her inner wrist and pushing outward. Tears forces their way into her already blurry vision as all sound flees from her ears.

It _hurts_. The Breach had caused her pain when it was small – barely a paper cut in the sky – but now it is everywhere. Everything. It consumes her every thought, drowning out the sound of her own heartbeat and breathing. The green haze that had been bearable only moments before now fills her lungs like water, weighing her down in the space between life and death.

Is this what it feels like to die?

Someone hits her and Remi inhales sharply, vision returning to her so fast it gives her whiplash. Sound explodes in her ears once more, the frantic shouting of her companions grounding her in the moment and pushing away the haze of the Breach.

“Rose, come back to me.” Cassandra whispers, holding Remi’s face in her hands and smiling when Remi’s eyes refocus. “There you are.”

“Did you hit me?” Is the first thing that falls out of Remi’s mouth, making Varric snort and Cassandra smile.

“I may have.” Blood slides down Remi’s cheek almost like a tear, and Cassandra purses her lips. “Yes.”

Their small moment is interrupted by Leliana firing an arrow at the upper courtyard ahead of them, a sneer settling on her face. “A rift. Close it.”

Dorian makes a snippy comment as he helps her to her feet, holding his staff in one hand and letting her steadying her with his other. “I’d really prefer you didn’t die. We still have to prevent all this, mind you.”

Ah, yes. The crippling fate of the world once more settles on her shoulders. How delicious.

Remi reaches for the rift, having to physically push through the weight of the Breach to reach for the magic that flails off the rift in tendrils. She grabs one and yanks, the breath being knocked out of her with the force she has to use to close the rift. The Breach is almost part of the rift, reaching down and forcing its way into the mark.

The second rift in such a short amount of time is slowly sapping her energy, but Leliana is already pushing forward. Another rift opens in the area ahead of her, and Remi shudders as she positions herself behind Cassandra. A wraith shoots Cassandra’s shield and sends the Seeker careening backwards into her, knocking the breath from both of them and making Remi glad she’d been bracing herself.

Cassandra looks back at Remi for a moment, pink eyes going soft. “I love you.” She breathes, searching Remi’s face for reciprocation, only to turn away when she finds none.

This is _wrong_. If Remi hadn’t been so absorbed in the things Gereon was saying, she’d have been able to predict his actions. Cassandra wouldn’t be in some kind of sick love with her, Varric wouldn’t barely be able to stand, and Leliana wouldn’t be so horribly _angry_. The Breach wouldn’t have expanded so far. None of this would have happened.

The Breach snaps shut with more force than normal, and something thumps to the ground in its place. Remi approaches it like she has every other rift, kicking the residue away and bending down to pick up whatever it reveals, though she stops just as the tips of her fingers brush the two things inside.

A wolf’s jaw bone and a dawnstone eyepatch.

Remi’s heart _stops_.

A frantic spin on her heel reveals more things in the courtyard she hadn’t seen before. A fur mantel stuck in one of the red lyrium spires. Two twirling horns meant to mimic a Qunari. A normal bow and a broken shield lie against the far wall, two sets of bones hidden underneath. And a wide brimmed hat rests innocently atop one of the balustrades, calling her attention for a reason she can’t quite place.

Dead. Every single one of her friends, her companions, even people she didn’t know. Dead.

How many people outside of this castle died because she wasn’t around to stop this? How many innocent people were dead because Remi, Rosemarie, _The Herald of Andraste_ , wasn’t there to save them?

_How much blood is on her hands?_

A staff glitters in the corner of her eye. She turns to look at it, apprehension making her shake where she stands. Remi inhales sharply when she finally sees it, tears swelling over her eyelids and sliding down her cheeks. The flowered ribbon attached to the shaft that floats in the Fade-tainted wind is a dead giveaway.

_Herah._

Remi understands why Leliana is so angry.

-

Her ax is still imbedded deep within the stone beside the throne room’s door where she’d thrown it a few minutes earlier, and there’s a twisted sense of satisfaction that settles in the pit of Remi’s stomach as the spellbinder dissolves under her new corrupted razor. Varric shoots a shade that comes toward her on the right side, jerking his head toward the rift in a silent invitation for her to close it.

Another bolt flies through the space between her shoulder and her head as she reaches for the rift, grasping the tendrils of magic with ease and pulling the rift shut. Boiling rage snuffs out the exhaustion that threatens to rear its head, and Remi ignores the knowledge that she’s closed three rifts in an hour without resting.

The Breach dances in the open hole in the ceiling, making the pounding in her skull that much more prominent. Remi wills it away, kicking through the sizzling remains of the spellbinder and tilting her head when she reveals a piece of red lyrium. It’s been carved into the shape of a snake, a crystal pressed into the eye that sparkles in the light of the Breach. This shard doesn’t sing like normal red lyrium.

“It seems they’ve enchanted it to hinder its consumption of the organic. How peculiar.” Dorian observes over her shoulder, and Remi hums in satisfaction. “Hold on to it, please. I want to look at it later.”

“It looks like it fits in the door, Songbird. You think there’s more of these laying around?” Varric asks from his place where he sits on the stairs, head leaning in his palm.

Remi knows her companions are getting tired, and she wishes she could do something to make them better. “We need to split into groups, take a look around.” Cassandra stops kicking around demon remains and comes toward Remi.

“I’ll come with you, Rose.”

“No.” Leliana snaps. “You are too enamored, Cassandra. You will only be distracted. I will go with Lady Trevelyan, you will go with Dorian and Varric.”

“Leliana-“

“Lady Trevelyan would back me on this, wouldn’t you?”

The answer to that question is yes, and they all know it. Remi pretends not to see the crushed look on Cassandra’s face, instead turning toward the left door on the east wall. “We’ll take this door, you three do the other. We’ll see you soon.” She passes six of the healing potions she carries in her satchel to Dorian, nodding curtly before heading through her designated door.

“Thank you.” Remi says to Leliana once they’ve cleared the stairs, handing her two remaining healing potions to the archer. Leliana downs them both immediately, face set in a grimace.

“Don’t thank me. I simply made this easy enough for all of us.”

“Yeah,” Remi whispers to herself, “All of us.”

They push onwards into the upper royal wing, and Remi’s self-destructive nature pushes forth again. “How much damage did Gereon’s spell do?”

“Rifts tore apart all of southern Thedas, starting here.” Leliana responds, picking the lock on one of the doors and pushing it open. “But whether that’s his doing or the Breach, who can say?” The bitterness in her voice is trumped only by the accusation, but Remi has already dug herself this hole.

“And the north?”

It’s quiet for a few moments as they both search the room. Leliana slams a trunk shut before she speaks again. “Your family was slaughtered within months of your death. Those in Rivain boarded boats and fled, save for one. You already know what happened to her.”

Tears rolls down her cheeks once more, right hand clenching around the jaw bone in her pocket. The sharpened edge cuts the inside of her palm and she lets it go, fingers ghosting over the cold metal of Iron Bull’s eyepatch as she pulls her hand from her pocket.

“I don’t say these things to upset you, Lady Trevelyan. You asked, and I told.”

“Yeah. Thanks for that.” Remi wipes the tears from her face with dirty fingertips and heads back through the door, exhaling heavily as she pushes open the next door. Most of the rooms on the hallway are just for storage, though they find a few Venatori in the first room on their left when the hallwqay opens up. Watching them turn to acid beneath her razor is incredibly pleasing.

Remi kicks the crumbling wall to on the right side of the room in, a sadistic grin spreading across her features when the spellbinder in the room jumps in surprise. “Hey kitten.” She purrs, swinging the razor in one hand as Leliana looses an arrow into their shoulder. Remi decapitates them easily, their stump of a neck sizzling in the aftermath of her corrupted razor.

“I found another one.” Leliana comments, handing another shard to Remi. Both women huff and Remi kicks the other crumbling wall in, tilting her head to the side as she takes in the room. It’s almost like a wine cellar, the barrels that usually hold alcohol having been smashed or pierced with red lyrium.

“Not much in here.” Remi comments, and Leliana pushes the door of the room open. They head across the hall and stop just outside of the door, both women on high alert when they spot the flickering light beneath it. Leliana picks the lock with ease and steps back to allow Remi to push the door open, bow held taunt and ready.

There is no one in the makeshift kitchen they’ve found, though they can hear loud discussion from the door on the other side. Remi breathes deeply in an attempt to calm herself, keeping her footfalls light as she sneaks toward the door. Leliana is impossibly silent behind her, and Remi tries not to think about how her severe lack of body weight probably has something to do with that.

Remi nudges the door open slowly, peering around the frame to find the group of Venatori gathered around the table in the large library. Leliana gestures to the ladder to their right, a platform having been built for renovations standing unused and hidden. She climbs the ladder in silence, crouching low and moving toward the edge. The Venatori are too caught up in their conversation to notice the imposing figure above them.

An arrow slams through the throat of the spellbinder laughing behind the table, and chaos breaks out among the remaining. Remi charges with ease and brings down one of the archers. She jumps off of one of the chairs, bringing her razor down on a zealot just as Leliana takes down another. Cassandra comes charging from another room, face lighting up at the sight of Remi, and drives her sword through another archer. Varric and Dorian make short work of the remaining few, and a calm silence settles in the room.

“How many did you find?” Dorian asks Remi as she fishes the next shard out of the spellbinder’s robes, tucking it into her satchel with the other things she’s collected. “We’ve only found one.”

“Two if you count this one. There’s one more somewhere else.”

Varric sits heavily in one of the chairs, Bianca clattering to the ground by his side. “There’s nothing else in this wing, Songbird. We’ve already gone through every room on our side.”

“So we check another place. I saw an open arch back in the throne room.” Leliana adds, sliding her bow over her shoulder and nodding toward the door. She’s unsteady on her feet, and Remi and Dorian exchange a look. It’s a surprise she’s still standing.

Cassandra takes her place by Remi’s side once more, hazy eyes flitting over her face to make sure she’s still all right. “How did you manage?”

“I’m good, Cass. I’m good.”

“Good.”

Remi wonders if it’s really love that Cassandra feels for her, or some twisted obsession of faith. There’s a chance it really is love, but it’s not the kind Remi wants. Cassandra would have to be in love with the Rose from their past, or the Remi who has taken the mantel of Herald. Not the fisherwoman from Rivain.

Not _her_.

The next spellbinder is leading a prayer of sorts, and Remi guts roll in disgust. She’s never been a fan of religion, especially not one like this. Nearly all of them are cults meant to corrupt an extort. Varric puts a bolt through spellbinder’s skull from his place behind Remi, cheering her on as she surges forward to take out the remaining Venatori. The five of them do it in relative ease, a collective breath released when they’re all dead.

“I have this one.” Cassandra calls from the top of the stairs, tossing the last shard to Remi with ease. Dorian hands her the one he carries as they leave the place of worship and move back toward the throne room.

“Are you all ready to face Gereon?” Remi asks them, and she allows the rage that had been simmering in her chest to push outward into her flexing fingers.

“I’ve been waiting to do this since the day you died.” Cassandra responds, drawing her sword and slamming it against her shield twice.

Varric notches a bolt in Bianca, nodding along to what Cassandra says with a smirk. “He isn’t going to get anywhere with us on his doorstep.”

Remi turns to look for Leliana, finding the woman sinking into the shadows. She has no weapon drawn. Leliana nods once, face dangerously passive. Remi inhales sharply and places the shards in their places, taking a step back as light slides through the doors and surges outwards, unlocking whatever mechanism has kept them shut.

There is no throne in the large room. Gereon’s back is turned to them, a sickly figure kneeling by his side. The only reason her companions haven’t charged him is because Remi asks them to wait. “What’re you gonna do now, fucker?” She taunts, lips pursed and arms crossed casually.

“I knew you would appear again.” Gereon says, completely ignoring her remark. “Not that it would be now, but I knew I hadn’t destroyed you. My final failure.”

“Was it worth is? Everything you did to the world? To yourself?” Dorian asks him, tilting his head so condescendingly that his entire body moves with the gesture.

Gereon continues to stare into the fire, his flair for the dramatic still prevailing after all these years. “It doesn’t matter now. All we can do is wait for the end.”

Remi scoffs, fingers clenching as she uncrosses her arms. “It _does_ matter. I will undo the shit you’ve caused.”

“How many times have I tried?” Gereon asks her. “The past cannot be undone. All that I fought for, all that I betrayed, and what have I wrought? Ruin and death. There is nothing else. The Elder One comes: for me, for you, for us all.”

Leliana emerges from the shadows and yanks the kneeling figure to their feet, pressing a knife into their neck and cutting off the cry of surprise that leaves them.

“Felix!” Gereon exclaims, reaching out toward them in desperation. Remi’s heart stutters for what feels like the millionth time in less than two hours, fisted hands beginning to shake.

Dorian sounds furious when he speaks again, hands thrown around him as he steps forward. “That’s _Felix?!_ Maker’s breath, Alexius, what have you _done?_ ”

“He would have died, Dorian. I saved him!”

“You killed him, Gereon! Your son is a walking corpse and you are too blind to see it!” Remi shouts, rage coloring her vision red. The mark spasms angrily in her palm along with her sudden flare of emotions.

“Please, don’t hurt my son.” Gereon pleads to all of them, though he’s only turned to Leliana. “I’ll do anything you ask.”

Part of Remi wants to let Leliana kill him. Felix isn’t even alive, the brilliant mind that had once inhabited his mind having melted under whatever Gereon did to him. The boy she’d seen smiling less than two hours before is now an empty husk of a person dangling in Leliana’s hands. He’d have tried to talk her down. He’d have already stopped his father. The other part of her knows that Felix is the only leverage they have, and she plans to use him.

“Hand over the amulet, and we’ll let him go.”

“Let him go, and I swear you’ll get what you want.” Gereon is in no place to bargain, yet he tries anyway.

Leliana’s hollow face turns dark, a snarl cracking her lips and making her look nearly deranged. “I want the world back.” She sneers, dragging her dagger across Felix’s neck with practiced ease.

“ _No!_ ” Gereon shouts, and Remi realizes belatedly the same thing has left her mouth. This wasn’t what she wanted. He sends Leliana flying with a burst of magic, rage coloring his visage. He turns on the remaining four, spreading time changing mines around the room.

Remi draws her razor and weaves around them, twirling around a pillar and swiping at Gereon. He fadesteps away, reappearing just in time to be smashed by Cassandra’s shield. His head smashes against one of the pillars when he hits the ground, and he opens a rift in his panic before wrapping himself in a barrier.

This will be the fourth rift she’s closed in under two hours.

“Keep an eye on him, Leliana!” Remi calls to the archer, nodding once when Leliana dips into stealth and moves away from the battle.

Varric dispatches one of the shades with ease. Cassandra and Remi dance through the other ones with a strange kind of grace, slicing through wraiths and shades alike. Dorian offers cover fire when Remi reaches upwards to close the rift, the inward suction of magic dragging Gereon’s barrier away. The madman throws spells erratically, his movements becoming ineffective with the more emotion he puts into them.

Arrows and bolts begin to litter Gereon’s body, along with stab wounds and cuts. The skin on one side of his face is slowly eroding after Remi managed to nick his cheek. He opens another rift when he stumbles and Cassandra nearly brings her sword down on his face, fadestepping once more as he spawns a barrier. Leliana takes up her stealth once more, lingering on the edge of his barrier like a wolf at the edge of torchlight.

The rift spawns terror demons and shades. Remi charges one of the terror demons in a blind rage, the weight of the things she’d taken from the courtyard suddenly heavy in her pocket. The razor doesn’t work on it like a human’s flesh, but she still lobs off one of its legs with ease. A bolt slams into its eye and she turns around to slice through a shade. Cassandra takes her place after a moment and Remi rolls away, reaching upward and grasping the tendrils of the rift.

This rift – the fifth rift in less than two hours – drags the remaining demons into it as it closes, and Remi falls heavy on her ass. She shakes her head, and her vision refocuses just as Gereon comes toward her with blazing hands. She brings the razor up as a mix of terror and rage grip her, swinging upward just as he reaches her.

The fire that he’d summoned burns the side of her neck, and Remi can feel the mark healing the flesh in its wake. Gereon slams face first into her razor, his skin dissolving away and dripping onto the floor between her legs. The pained scream that had left him turns gurgled, though it quickly disappears entirely as his body continues falling forward. It’s only when Cassandra drags her away that Remi’s brain finally kicks back into gear.

“Are you all right? Rose, love, can you hear me?”

“Yeah.” She breathes, blinking a few times and releasing a shuddering breath. “I’m okay.”

Cassandra’s lips meet hers in a moment of relief, but she pulls away just as fast. “I’m sorry.” Cassandra whispers, moving back and trying to pull Remi to her feet. “I know you can’t ingest it.”

“He wanted to die, didn’t he.” Dorian states more than asks, crouching beside Gereon’s body and purposely looking away from his face. Remi feels terrible, but she tucks it away. This is how it has to be. “All those lies he told himself, the justifications… He lost Felix long ago and didn’t even notice. Oh, Alexius…”

Remi moves toward him, hand resting on his elbow when he stands. “This Gereon was too far gone, but the one in our time might still be reasoned with. We can still fix this, Dori.”

“I suppose that’s true. This is the same amulet he used before. I think it’s the same one we made in Minrathous. That’s a relief. Give me an hour to work out the spell he used, and I should be able to reopen the rift.”

Leliana approaches them nearly frantic, expression confused. “An hour? That’s impossible! You must go now!” The entire room rattles with the call of some creature Remi doesn’t want to meet, fear settling amidst the adrenaline coursing through her veins. It’s grating and raspy, like the scream of something long dead. “The Elder One.”

“You have to hurry. This… is bad.” Varric warns, gaze turned skyward in apprehension. He turns to Cassandra after a moment, and the two of them nod in apparent understanding. “We’ll hold the main door. Once they break through, it’s all you, Nightingale.”

“No! I can’t let you commit suicide.” Remi can’t have more blood on her hands. No more people can die for her- _because of her_.

Leliana gestures to the three of them. “Look at us. We’re already dead. The only way we live is if this day never comes.”

Cassandra comes forward and cradles Remi’s face with her hands, pressing a kiss to both corners of her mouth. “I love you.” She breathes, offering a smile that is supposed to be soothing. The scent of red lyrium on her breath negates that.

“Promise me you’ll stay alive.” Remi whispers back, shaking hands pulling Cassandra into her. The Seeker’s smile turns sad, and she pulls away to leave the room with Varric. Remi is left feeling barren, the weight of the past 90 minutes eating her alive. The soothing warmth of Dorian’s barrier slides over her as he begins the process of trying to open the rift, and Leliana takes up a guarding position by the door. All that is left for Remi to do is keep herself functioning.

When the fighting starts outside, Remi tries to be hopeful. Bile rises in her throat with each sound that makes it through the door, and Dorian works faster behind her. When the sound of battle outside comes to an abrupt halt, Remi begins to cry.

“Though darkness closes, I am shielded by flame.”

The door is thrown open and a terror demon dumps Cassandra’s body on the floor, her battered corpse rolling a few feet before coming to a stop. A choked sob is all Remi can offer, panic welling in the corners of her mind and curling around her lungs. What was she going to do now?

“Andraste, guide me. Maker, take me to your side.” Leliana looses arrow after arrow, shouting in pain when one is returned into her shoulder. Remi draws her weapon and attempts to head down the stairs, head snapping to Dorian when he grabs her.

“You move, and we all die!”

He’s right. He’s horribly incredibly right, and it’s killing her. She turns around to look at the rift, head snapping back around when one of the demon’s screams.

Leliana’s arm is gone. They’ve ripped it from its socket, and the unadulterated fear painted for all to see across her face makes Remi cry harder. She wants to help, but she can’t help if she doesn’t leave. She has to let her _die_. Leliana reaches for her with her remaining arm, eyes wide and mouth open in a wordless cry for help.

The rift explodes around her. When Remi’s vision returns, and the smoke clears, Gereon is standing before her. She slams her fist into his face with a strangled cry, body shaking so aggressively that it’s a miracle she manages to hit him at all. He falls to his knees and she knees him in the face, causing even more damage.

“Relax, Songbird! Whatever he did to you, it’s over now.” _Varric_.

Remi turns her head to the side to see her companions – her friends – approaching her at a jog. Cassandra’s face is smothered in concern, Varric reflecting the same. She can’t do this right now. She _can’t_.

-

Cassandra has made her displeasure about allying with the mages known. It’s only in glares she thinks Remi doesn’t notice, but it’s there. Varric has been glued to her side, and she only managed to ditch him under the false pretense that she was going to bathe. Dorian has been giving Leliana his recount of the events- the Nightingale having taken one look at Remi and rightfully deeming her too emotional to be rash.

Now Remi sits beside the river, curling in on herself and sobbing into her knees. The wolf’s jaw bone and the dawnstone eyepatch are clenched in each of her hands, a physical reminder of everything she’d been through being real. Those people had suffered. They’d _died_.

Her mistake had caused the death of thousands. Blood that hadn’t even been spilled yet was on her hands- in her mind.

Remi has to stop to throw up, shaking so horribly it gets on her boots. Her body finally catches up to her then, the drain of closing five rifts in such close succession, and the strain of so many demanding emotions, finally trying to drag her under. She barely manages to make it back to camp and collapse in her bedroll before unconsciousness finally takes her.

But oh, when had sleep ever been peaceful?

* * *

  _Herah,_

_I love you. I love you so much. Don’t ever doubt how much you mean to me, or how willing I am to move heaven and earth for you. You are my best friend- very nearly my sister. I love you to the moon and back. I’ll tell you what happened when I see you again. You can hold me and I can feel safe and everything can just be_ good _. Please, I need it. I need you._

_-Rose_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my wifi cut out right as i hit 'post' so now im angry and i have to go back through and edit everything again while hoping my wifi doesn't cut out. my explanation for a week late is gone bc i am angery  
> legitimately i've been trying to edit and post this for the last hour, so sorry for any spelling errors. i don't have the patience to go back through and make sure it's all spelled right again.


	12. A Child Will Fix Our Marriage, Won't It?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I do not have baby arms!”  
> “Teeny widdle baby arms.”  
> “Bull!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter s u c k s and doesn't have much relation to the actual story but ;)

The trip to the Fallow Mire was purely selfish.

Remi packed up The Iron Bull and his Chargers and headed out, completely ignoring the insistence from her other companions that they should be allowed to come along. It was easier to ignore the looming guilt of a dystopian future she’d never hoped to live without the walking reminders breathing down her neck. The Iron Bull was a drawback far easier to ignore when surrounded by the people whom he loved most.

She’s almost positive he knows, though. She pitches her tent farther away than she probably should when they make camp and is a general downer of the otherwise lively party. When asked, Remi claims it’s just the weather- or that she misses home. The Iron Bull pretends he doesn’t watch her, but he’s a large man with only one eye. And Krem is hardly discreet about his insistence she join them.

The Fallow Mire itself manages to dampen the party’s spirits a decent amount. There is still laughter and teasing around whatever fire they manage to set up when they rest, but it is muted in the eternal night of the Mire. Remi’s preferred solitude is put on hold out of necessity, the corpses that periodically emerge from the water increasing the level of danger.

Corpses by themselves don’t cause much of a fuss. They are bumbling and slow, whatever weapons they pick up working poorly in their crumbling hands. Even in large groups they are easy to dispose of, as The Iron Bull and his Chargers have far larger numbers than the Mire can produce.

It is the corpses of children that give the party pause.

Their rotted fists clutch decomposing toys, empty pits where their eyes should be glowing the sickly green of the rifts. They reach gangly arms toward Remi, and had they been living, she’d have wasted no time in picking them up, or soothing their fears. But corpses do not have fear, and it is better for them to place an arrow deftly in the center of their skull.

Some of the Chargers claim to hear crying one night after they’ve killed what seems like hundreds of children’s corpses. It dances on the wind, rattling the few plants that manage to survive in the Mire. Remi pretends it doesn’t exist, and The Iron Bull assures his men that it’s probably ‘just the demons and all the Veil Bullshit’.

No one is sure what they’d prefer.

The beacons meant to light their way through the Mire seem to fascinate the Chargers. Those brave enough prod at the rune burned into the poll, while other hang back to ask Remi questions. She answers them to the best of her abilities, though she finds herself wishing she’d sucked it up and brought Solas with them. But she knows that carrying both the eyepatch and the jawbone, while traveling with their owners, would have been detrimental.

Problems arise when the Chargers – a large group of rambunctious people – try to tread carefully through cursed water that responds when you touch it. Their short trip is bogged down by slip-ups that summon corpses, though the large number of fighters makes the battle faster.

The large number of fighters also makes finding space on land to stand rather difficult, resulting in more corpses. It’s all a repetitive process, but it keeps Remi’s mind from falling into places it shouldn’t. She sleeps easier the harder they fight.

When they finally reach the castle-of-sorts the Avvar have commandeered, Remi finds humor in the blatant shock on their faces. Word had gotten out rather quickly that the ‘Blessed Herald of Andraste’ traveled with three other people, no more, no less. What word had failed to take into account was that, so long as the numbers were even or too big to count, Remi didn’t care. Give her two or twenty, the job would get done.

Opponents fall like flies, and Remi wastes no time in picking the lock while everyone is distracted. Krem stands over her like the good soldier he is, hiding them both behind the shield he’d chosen to carry specifically for this purpose.

“Lady Cassandra asked me to protect you!” Krem calls over the sounds of battle, backing into Remi’s shoulders for a moment to block a rogue arrow. “She said you were reckless!”

Remi snorts, trying not to think about the Cassandra from the future, and instead focuses on the one from her past. “Don’t let her tell you lies! Cass was the one who kept falling out of trees when we were younger!”

Iron Bull’s roar of challenge drowns out whatever Krem says in response, and Remi goes back to trying to pick the lock. Satchel had taught her how to, claiming if the Carta ever came to get him, he expected her to be able to get him out. He’d also taught Herah, but the large woman was better at melting locks than picking them.

The lock on the door pops open just as Iron Bull strides over with a key. Remi pouts at him for a moment before rolling her eyes, a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth as the rest of the Chargers join them by the door.

“Herald of Andraste!”

Can she close the door without seeming rude? Probably not.

Some of the scouts who had been leaning against the wall push themselves into standing positions and salute, those who are physically too injured to stand putting a fist over their heart anyway. Remi offers them the confident smile she’s been perfecting, the person she really is falling away like water on a tarp. “We’ve dealt with the Avvar. Is everyone all right?”

One of the female scouts comes forward, relaxing her salute and offering her most convincing smile. “Yes, Your Worship. The injured need some rest, but we can return on our own.”

“I’m gonna call bullshit on that one, soldier. The injured can rest, but you’re traveling back with us. This place is crawling with corpses.” Remi waves away the woman’s sheepish smile, reaching out to place a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t ever be afraid to be honest about what you need. I won’t think less of you.”

“Thank you, Your Worship.”

Remi moves out of the room and toward the door – or where it should be – of the large throne room, ignoring the muted comments of disbelief at her arrival. It shouldn’t be this shocking that she came for them, yet their words prove otherwise. She makes mental plans to work with Sera on reconnecting with the little people.

Iron Bull follows her out the door, the ax one of the Avvar had been wielding held securely in his hands. Remi holds up a hand to stop his approach, eyes fixed on the hulking form of the Sky Watcher.

“Your god looks after you, Herald.” Remi resists the urge to tell him the Maker is not her god. The Watcher looks over her shoulder, brows furrowing in disapproval when his gaze connects with one of the corpses. “There lies the brat. His father, chief of our holding, would duel me for the loss, if he cared enough.”

Merchant words dance on Remi’s tongue, interest peaked. “The Inquisition has a purpose your chief lacks.”

“Is this why the Lady of the Skies led me here? To help heal the wounds in her skin? Aye. I’ll join you. Let me make peace with my kin, and I’ll find where you set your flag.” He salutes her as well, giving one nod before heading down the numerous stairs he’d climbed.

Iron Bull approaches just as she sighs, a small smirk across his face.

“You in the market for a fancy ax?” When Remi attempts to say no, his smirk broadens. His tone is almost sing-song when he tempts her further. “It has serrated edges.”

“Fine.” She huffs, taking the great ax from his hands and twirling it in her own. It gleams in the lightning that dances on the sky. “Is that all you followed me out here for?”

“Nope. Have a seat, we’re going to have a serious conversation.”

“Ew.” Remi plants herself at the top of the stairs, tugging the hood of her cloak further over her head to try and block the rain. “What’s up?”

Iron Bull leans forward on his knees and angles his head to get a better look at her, single eye roving over her face. “You’re not sleeping like you should be, or eating. Cassandra will eat me alive if you collapse on my watch- and not in the fun way.”

Remi purses her lips, fingers drumming on her chainmail. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You want to play that game with me? When was the last time you ate?”

“This morning.”

Iron Bull snorts, rolling his eye in vague exasperation. “None of us ate this morning. Try again.”

“You’re not my dad, Bull. You don’t have to concern yourself with me.”

“No, but I am your friend. I’m going to be concerned about you.” When Remi doesn’t try to argue again, Iron Bull continues. “Red made me read the letter Herah sent you. I didn’t read much of it, just enough to know who it was from and who it was for. But I also know you don’t sleep well alone.”

Remi fists her hands around the handle of the great ax, eyes burning from both exhaustion and tears. “I don’t need your pity.”

“It’s not pity, Remi. It’s concern.”

They sit in silence for what feels like an eternity before Iron Bull pats her knee with a heavy hand. “My tent is always open if you decide you don’t want to be alone. For the meantime, you need to eat. Baby arms can’t lift big axes.”

Remi’s jaw drops, and she latches onto the change of subject. “I do _not_ have baby arms!”

“Teeny widdle baby arms.”

“Bull!”

He laughs loudly, half depositing Remi in a circle of the Chargers and smiling when food is dished out. Approval radiates off of him when she begrudgingly takes a bite, smile that of a pleased mother hen. Remi makes a note to tease him later.

Iron Bull’s tent is larger than she’d imagined when she awkwardly crawls into it later, hands twisting her blanket nervously. She feels like she’s six again, crawling into her mother’s bed after a nightmare.

“You’re good, Remi.”

She curls against his side, hands fisted in the blanket she’d dragged with her, body relaxing against her will. Iron Bull’s fingers rub circles in her side, steady breathing making her realize just how much she’d missed being held by someone larger than her. He’s no Herah, but he’ll have to do.

“Hey, Bull?”

“Hm?”

“Can you call me Rose? Or Trevelyan? Or anything but Remi?”

There’s a pause as he considers it, but he ultimately agrees. “Whatever makes you most comfortable, Rose.”

Tears spill from burning eyes when her name rolls off his tongue, the sound of it in his accent making her ache for her best friend. Her words of thanks are choked, and her tears get on the skin of his arm.

“Anytime.”

-

The next morning finds their group hiking back through the Mire, their progress slowed by healing soldiers. Corpses stand no chance against them now, the pull of the few rifts Remi had closed no longer giving them the extra strength they’d been showing. The beacons also keep the corpses further out in the water, whatever magic that pulsates off of them being a strong deterrent.

Two days in turns into barely one, and they’ve reached the midway point by what everyone assumes is noon. One of the Chargers makes a loud remark that has the entire group in an uproar, and that’s when the crying starts again in full.

But this time, no one is hearing it while they dance on the cusp of sleep.

All laughter ceases and weapons are drawn, the group forming a protective circle around the injured soldiers. Remi twirls one of her daggers in her hand, other itching to reach for the razor on her back.

“Anyone know where it’s coming from?”

“That cave back behind the big tree, I think.”

She offers her thanks to Dalish, twirling the dagger in her hand and moving toward the cave. The mark provides enough light to see inside, and Remi’s heart stutters at the sight of the body lying in the way. He’s been recently killed, maybe within the last few days, and there’s a sword clutches in his hand. He’d been defending something.

Dread pools in Remi’s stomach.

The crying gets louder as she moves further into the cave. Iron Bull flanks her, ax drawn and expression deadly. Remi steps over the discarded shoes of a woman, biting her bottom lip and lowering her dagger.

“Fuck.” Iron Bull breathes, the fight fading from his face and his body, resting his ax back in its harness. “It’s a kid.”

The little boy, barely a year and a half old, clutches the fabric of his dead mother’s cape in shaking fists. He screams his lungs out, tears washing away the dirt and dust that have settled on his previous tear tracks. His skin and hair are nearly gray with grime.

“We can’t leave him here.” Remi puts her dagger away, kneeling to be closer to his height. He turns away from her, chest heaving as he sobs. “I’m just going to have to take him.”

“Fuck. Okay. Krem, get a blanket!”

“On it, Chief!”

Remi grabs the little boy under his arms, and Iron Bull pries his tiny fingers out of his mother’s cape. He screams louder, flailing around in desperation and reaching for her. Remi quickly turns away from her, jerking her head away to prevent a collision with the little boy’s head when he throws it back. She and Krem work together to wrap him tightly in the blanket, keeping him from hurting himself as he continues to meltdown.

No one knows what to feel. Mixed emotions are palpable in the air, whispered comments carrying up to Remi on the wind. Mostly there is shock and concern dancing on their tongues as the little boy screams his heart out. ‘How long has he been out here?’ ‘Why were they living in that cave?’ ‘What are we supposed to do now?’

They’re passing through what used to be the village when the small child finally cries himself to sleep, the lack of oxygen he’d been getting to his brain making sleep prompt. His sudden silence initially causes panic, but the large party lets out a collective sigh of relief when Remi confirms that he’s still breathing.

“What do you plan to do with him, Your Worship?”

If she’s being completely honest, she’s going to gain this little boy’s trust, close the Breach, and take him back to Rivain with her to raise with Herah.

“I’m not sure.” Remi answers, adjusting her grip on the child and wiping away some of the dirt from his cheek. “For now, I want to bathe him and find him some proper clothes.”

“Do you think he has the plague?” Iron Bull asks, peering over her shoulder at the sleeping child. He’s asking the hard questions, and Remi is only partially grateful.

“I’m not sure. We’ll keep him isolated for now, make sure he doesn’t contaminate anyone. He can stay in my tent with me.”

“Forgive me for intruding, Herald,” one of the scouts interjects, “but what about you? If he’s ill, we can’t have you catching it as well.”

The mark pulses within the veins of her wrist as though to respond, and Remi finds herself smiling. “I’ll be okay.”

They make camp as far from the Fallow Mire as they can, relief swarming the group when the rain actually lets up into a drizzle. Some collect water from the clean river to the west, others attempt to build a fire under the hastily set up tarp, and those who remain set up tents for everyone.

Remi ducks into hers with the little boy, thanking the soldiers who come by to bring her a bucket of water and a cloth, along with food and the smallest shirt the group has been able to round up. It will still dwarf the little boy, but it will have to do for the time being.

She tests the water they’d heated on the inside of her arm, satisfied when it proves to only be warm and not scalding. She unwraps the blanket carefully, holding her breath whenever he makes noises as though he’s waking up, and then begins to wipe him clean. The water gets dirtier and dirtier with each swipe of the cloth, but it also reveals more of what this little boy really looks like.

His chubby freckled cheeks are rosy, a sure sign of a fever. His skin is flushed, but she can only assume it’s as pale as a ‘typical’ Ferelden’s. Remi has to call for someone to change the water, and she tries to settle the little boy in it once it comes back. He jerks awake almost immediately, tears rolling down his cheeks and terrified screams rattling his tiny body.

“Oh, bambino.” Remi soothes, plastering a disarming smile on her face in hopes of calming him. It only works for a moment before he begins to sob in earnest once more. She searches her mind for something- anything to calm him down. Humming is what she settles for, and her confidence grows when he quiets his crying to hear her better. She sings to him softly, offering her open palms, and smiling when he takes an interest in her marked hand.

His tiny hand grips her ring and pinkie finger in a vice while his other hand traces the outline of the mark, fingers poking and prodding at the glow. Remi reaches behind her and grabs the bag that carries all of her soaps and balms, picking the soap that will be least abrasive on his youthful skin.

Bathing him with one hand is hard, but Remi is impossibly determined. He eventually lets go and she has an easier time scrubbing him clean. She tilts his head back and cups his forehead to keep the soapy water from his eyes, a small grin forming when her actions reveal strawberry blond hair. His eyes are a pale green, only rivalled by Iron Bull’s.

“You’re so handsome.” She whispers to him, a grin nearly splitting her cheeks when he says some semblance of ‘thank you’. “ _And_ you talk? What a catch.”

Bath time goes by with relative ease until his stomach rumbles, and little tears gather in his eyes as his lip trembles. “Eat.” He demands in his small voice, a pout forming on his face.

“All right, love. We’ll dry you off and get you dressed, then we can eat.”

Remi hums while she dries him with one of her own shirts, then she tears the bottom off of the shirt they’d given him and uses it to form some kind of diaper. She pulls the remainder of the shirt over his head and arms, satisfied when it brushes his ankles.

“There you go. Now we can eat.”

“Eat!”

She takes the softest part of the food for him to eat, laughing with him whenever he gets a little bit on his face. Remi’s thankful for all the practice she got with Maeve’s son and her nieces and nephews, otherwise she’d be shooting in the dark. Helping him drink water proves to be a chore, but he drinks as much of it as he can with unadulterated glee.

After maybe an hour of slowly eating and drinking, and a little bit of playing, his eyelids begin to droop. Remi lets him crawl into her lap and wraps him in one of her fur blankets, a content smile softening her features as the small boy falls asleep against her chest.

Her tent flap opens and Iron Bull maneuvers inside, eye locked on the little boy in her lap. “You did it.”

“You sound surprised.” She laughs gently, smoothing the wispy strands of hair away from his forehead.

“Not gonna lie,” Iron Bull begins, situating himself across from her and watching the child with a curious expression. “When he stopped crying earlier, we all kind of thought you’d killed him.” He snickers at Remi’s offended expression, the smirk on his face melting into a teasing grin. “I’m kidding. I’ve always known you were good with kids.”

Remi raises an eyebrow. “Oh? Since when?”

“You let the orphans bury you in snow and put sticks in your hair right outside of Haven. Where I sleep.”

“Okay, fine. You caught me. I’m a sucker for little kids.”

They sit in silence for a long while, Iron Bull watching Remi and Remi watching the little boy.

“What are we calling him?” He asks suddenly, watching the child’s chest rise and fall. “We can’t keep calling him ‘The Kid’.”

Remi nibbles her bottom lip for a moment before responding. “I was thinking Conan. It seems like it’d fit him.”

Iron Bull tests the name a few times, eyebrow furrowing as he stares. “Seems kinda… southern.”

“Bull, honey, he’s literally Ferelden.”

“We don’t know that.”

“Where else are we going to find such pale skin?”

“Touché.”

They sit in a comfortable silence until Remi begins to dose, and then Iron Bull is urging her into her bedroll. “You need me to stay in here with you?”

“Only if you want to. Seeing the way you mother the Chargers, I think you’d be pretty good at caring for an actual child.” Iron Bull’s face scrunches up in offense, but Remi waves him away. “Go get your bedroll, you big oaf. I’ll stay here with this one.”

She doesn’t hear him get back, but he is just as awake as she is by the time Conan needs his makeshift diaper changed. They go through the same process of introduction as before, though it’s made easier by Conan’s apparent fascination with Iron Bull’s horns. They don’t get as much sleep as they’d desired that night, but Conan is far more comfortable with the two of them than he was the day before.

The next few days are spent walking through the wilderness toward the closest Inquisition camp. Conan adjusts bit by bit to the people around him, though he favors Remi, Iron Bull, and Krem the most. The group meet a trader inside of the camp once they get there, and they’re thrilled to find clothes meant for children. Conan gets his own little outfit, a stuffed bear, and a fluffy cloak.

“Thank you, Herald, for coming to save us.” One of the soldiers, Dale, says to her just before she and the Chargers depart. “You did not have to go out of your way for us.”

Conan waves from his place strapped to Remi’s back, and Dale gives a small wave back. Remi only smiles at him, feeling more content than she had in a while. “I won’t ever leave my people behind. Each of your lives matter, and I will do all I can to protect them.”

They set off on horseback for Haven. Remi leads them at a slower pace than normal, concern for the little boy strapped to her back making her cautious. He loves the newly acquired height, reaching for dead leaves that dangle from tree branches, and waving at people they pass.

The night before they arrive at Haven, Conan screams for his parents. The Chargers all panic, offering small trinkets or dances in hopes of calming him down. Krem sings with Remi, and though it doesn’t work all that well, it does more for them than anything else. He finally settles with a soft rendition of the Charger’s song, but little sniffles and tears still escape him every once in a while.

Conan sleeps in Remi’s bedroll with her that night.

The uproar that comes with arriving back to Haven falls into confused whispers when people catch sight of the small child strapped to Remi’s back. His little feet hang near her hips and his head sticks out from under her own cloak. She’d wrapped them both in it in hopes of keeping him warm, and the large lump on her back had given him away nearly immediately.

Remi is grateful for the scouts rushing her inside, throwing a wink over her shoulder at Krem and Iron Bull before making her way toward the gates. She catches Cassandra’s gaze just before she climbs the stairs, and the Seeker hurries to catch up with her.

“You’re back! And you- oh. Hello. What’s your name?” Conan looks shyly over the fur lining of Remi’s coat, wide green eyes staring at Cassandra in mild fear.

“We’ve called him Conan, for now.”

Cassandra’s eyebrows furrow, confusion setting her face sourly. “You’ve ‘called him’? Rosemarie…”

The scouts escort them into the Chantry, where they are met by Cullen’s confused stare. “You have a child.” He states, squinting as though he’s seeing things.

“Let’s get in the war room, yes? My plan of introducing you one by one is shot, so let’s just get it over with.”

Josephine and Leliana look up from the letters they’d been looking over, faces dropping in confusion and shock when they catch sight of the little boy peeking over Remi’s shoulder. Remi unfastens the cloth securing him to her back and maneuvers him around to sit on her hip, pressing a kiss into his hair when he leans his head on her shoulder.

“This is Conan. The Chargers and I found him in a cave in the Fallow Mire. His family was dead when we got there, and we weren’t just going to leave him to die.” Remi readjusts Conan so he sits in the fold of her arms, his little boots resting on the edge of the war table. “I’m assuming he was born in roughly the summer of last year. His vocabulary and general size suggests he’s about a year and a half old.”

“Forgive me, Lady Trevelyan, but how do you know so much about children?” Leliana asks her, waving at Conan and offering a gentle smile when he shyly waves back.

“I spent a lot of time helping raise the children at the orphanage in Seere. I can’t ever have children of my own, so raising the ones who don’t have parents was something I took pleasure in.”

Cullen’s face softens in sympathy, head tilting to the side as he studies both Remi and Conan. “What do you intend to do with him after we’ve closed the Breach?”

“Um.” Remi pauses and sucks her bottom lips between her teeth. “I was just going to take him back to Rivain with me, to be honest. Herah and I would make good parents. Very diverse family.”

Josephine leans forward in interest. “You have a partner? You don’t tell us much about your family in Rivain.”

“Well. There’s an elven ex-spy, a dalish elf, their son, an ex-carta dwarf, an escaped Qunari mage, and me: an ex-Templar.”

“ _You’re a Templar?_ ”  Remi makes a face, and everyone in the room turns to Cullen after his outburst. His face is somehow both vibrantly red and sickly white. “Why didn’t you say anything? You could be helping train the recruits! Where have you been getting your lyrium?”

Conan steals one of the markers from the table and throws it, giggling in satisfaction when it lands amidst a pile of them and knocks them to the floor.

“Okay. Well. One: I _was_ a Templar. Twenty years ago. Two: I have been a simple fisherwoman for those last twenty years. The most fighting I’ve done has been beating up people at bars who thought they could take advantage of other patrons. Three: I don’t use lyrium. I haven’t in – you guessed it – twenty years.”

“You don’t… use lyrium? You beat the addiction?”

Something about Cullen’s question feels incredibly intimate. His face is so full of hope, eyes so tired yet suddenly so alive. Cassandra taps the toe of her boot against Remi’s ankle discreetly.

“Yeah. If you have any recruits who need to, I can give them any tips I can think of. The withdrawal is different for everyone, from what I’ve heard.”

“You know others who have beaten it?”

“Of course. Beating it isn’t impossible. Those who fail to often lack the will. Actually,” she draws their gazes to the tattoo that lines her eye socket. “I got this tattoo from a group just outside of Rivain of others who had overcome their addiction. We formed a little support group of sorts, and this was the reminder that we’d _done it_.”

Silence falls as Cullen seems to regard her in a new light. They remain that way for a few moments as he gathers his thoughts, no one bothering to comment on his sudden subject change. “The mages meant to help you close the Breach arrived yesterday.”

“We’ve run through numerous scenarios in an attempt to predict any and all outcomes, but the future is still uncertain. Do you believe you are ready to close the Breach?” Leliana asks forwardly, eyes flicking between Remi and Cassandra with an eyebrow raised.

“It’s quite all right if you need a day or two to recover from your trip.” Josephine continues, seeming to have misinterpreted Leliana’s thinly veiled offer. “The few reports we received made the Mire seem incredibly taxing.”

“Yes.” Cassandra butts in firmly, and Remi tries not to twitch at the sound of her voice. Now that the excitement of bringing Conan to Haven has died down, she’s starting to panic again. “Rest is what you need before you do this. You can close more rifts without resting than you could at the beginning, but we can’t be certain it is enough.”

Remi scoffs, flipping Conan around until she settles him on her shoulders. “That’s great. I’m going to go make sure everyone is settling in okay.”

She ducks to keep Conan from hitting his head and walks as quietly as she can toward the small alcove Vivienne had claimed as her own. The turning of pages gives her away. Remi leans around one of the columns so that Conan’s face is visible and clears her throat.

“Oh my.”

“Oo, wow. Don’t sound too enthusiastic now.”

“Ah, Rosemarie. What a surprise to see you- and with a child no less. You are a mother?” Vivienne doesn’t fawn over the small boy as others had, instead watching him with a calculated stare.

Remi snorts, squeezing his small legs in her hands. “I’m not, no. We found him in the Mire, and I figured he’d have a better life here than the corpse invested swamp.”

“Yes, dear. That is a rather astute observation.” Sarcasm flows like river water from Vivienne’s lips, though it lacks the hostility Remi had expected. “What brings you here?”

“I actually need a couple of favors.”

“With the Breach? I can assure you, the Loyalist mages and I can offer much more controlled magic than the rebels, if that is what you so choose.”

“No. But it does concern you and the Loyalist mages.”

Vivienne hums under her breath, eyes narrowing in suspicion she doesn’t feel she needs to hide. “Go ahead.”

“You intend to rebuild the circles, don’t you?”

“I do.”

“Okay. My favors: don’t drag mage children away from their families. Let the circle be inviting, a place made to learn and grow as a better magic user.”

The Iron Lady says nothing, arms crossed as she half-leans on her desk behind her.

“The other one: please, whatever you do, don’t let Templars do what they seem so fond of doing. Don’t let them abuse their power. Don’t let them kill just for the fun of it. The uncontrolled- they take whatever they please. No one deserves that.”

Almost seeming to brush her point away, Vivienne sniffs snootily. “The same can be said for mages, my dear.”

“And notice I didn’t ask you _not_ to rebuild the circles. I simply want them to be a genuine school, not a prison. Magic is dangerous, but so are the people who don’t have it. _Power_ is what is most dangerous. Whoever has more of it becomes the most dangerous of them all.”

They stare at each other for what could very well be an eternity, though Conan pulling at Remi’s hair ruins their moment.

“Eat.”

“Please?”

“Eat peas!”

“Yes! Good job, Conan. I hope you at least think about my favors, Lady Vivienne.”

“I will certainly think of them, Rosemarie.”

-

Having deposited Conan with Krem for the night, Remi allows herself to lie on the floor of her cabin and wallow in every thought she’s been having. The mark spasms with each wave of emotion she feels, sending soothing heat into the depths of her soul when she feels she may suffocate. The jawbone and eyepatch rest on her stomach, their weight a constant reminder of everything she’d been through.

Was failing to close the Breach really the thing that killed everyone?

It sure seemed that way right now, what with everyone waiting anxiously for her to do so. The number of people who had been “just checking in” was ridiculous.

A knock on her door has Remi sighing loudly and tucking the jawbone and eyepatch into her pocket as she heaves herself up. She tugs the door open and plasters a semi-professional smile on her face when she meets Cullen’s eyes. “What can I help you with?”

“May I come in?”

It’s not a question she’d been expecting, but she opens the door wider and steps aside to let him in anyway.

Cullen paces a little before finally pulling the chair from her desk and sitting on it stiffly. Remi watches him in concern, plopping herself onto her bed with an eyebrow raised. “You good, Curly?”

“Ugh. You spend too much time with Varric.”

“You’re not wrong there.”

He sits quietly for a few moments more before finally sighing, and he drags a hand over his face. “You said you had beaten the addiction to lyrium.”

“I did say that.”

“Okay.” She waits patiently for him to say more, reading his tense shoulders and nervous expression easily. “How?”

Remi wiggles her tongue inside of her mouth, fingers drumming out a beat on her thighs as she thinks. “Well. Mostly with time. I spent a lot of my withdrawal angry and alone in the woods. That wasn’t the right way to go about it.” She elaborates after a glance at Cullen’s confused expression. “Basically, I fled the circle and my lyrium leash, and I went north. I was sort of a fugitive at this point, so I had to stick to the woods. Being by myself made the nightmares and the whispers even worse.”

“Oh.”

“In terms of like headaches and things, I’d have to get in contact with Herah. She was the one who found me and nursed me back to health when it got really bad.”

“How bad did it get?” Cullen asks her, apprehension coloring his words and making them thick.

“Well, considering I wasn’t really eating, and I wasn’t sleeping due to the nightmares and such, pretty bad. This was also a result of the complete isolation I was under. Make sure your soldiers who are trying to quit have a buddy who will be understanding and forgiving. Humans are creatures of contact, and the withdrawal will prove that tenfold.”

“I see.” Silence settles on them like a blanket on a child, though Cullen chooses to break it after only few seconds. “Is there any chance you could write Herah before we try to close the Breach? Should anything happen to you, I would have no way to help my soldiers.”

‘Should anything happen to you,’

Cullen thinks she’s going to die.

Really though, when she stops to genuinely consider it, the thought is not far-fetched. The Breach is an unstable hole of magic, and she hasn’t been close to it in months. Definitely not close enough for it to touch her.

“Of course. I have a number of letters to write before I do this, and I’ll have them sent off afterwards.”

She’s can’t die. Can she?

Cullen leaves seeming far more settled than when he’d arrived, but Remi’s head runs a mile a minute.

Could she really die closing the Breach tomorrow? The mark had healed any hindering or fatal wound nearly every instance prior, surely it would do the same should the Breach snap back at her. Then again, she’d never been fatally injured by a rift before. The things that came out of them had definitely hurt her, but not the rift itself.

But the mark had protected her on every occasion before this one. The Breach couldn’t hurt her. She had too much to live for now.

* * *

[One of twenty four letters handed to Leliana the following morning]

_Cassandra,_

_If you've received this letter, that means I died closing the Breach. And after a lot of thought, I think I'm okay with that. Hopefully, I'm leaving behind a world in which ~~my son~~ Conan can grow up safely. I'm counting on you and Bull (an unlikely duo, I know) to make sure he gets the life he deserves. Please don't let my sacrifice be in vain. And don't beat yourself up over this either. I will personally travel all the way to Rivain, get myself summoned, and haunt your ass. _

_Mother misses you dearly, by the way. In nearly every letter I've received from her, she's asked after you. She says your nieces and nephews are thrilled by tales of Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast, the Great Dragon Hunter. They want desperately to meet you. Do you think, if it isn't too much trouble, you could return home for me? My family will need someone, and that someone is you._

_Under the willow tree in the field, tucked under the roots, is something I wanted to give you years ago. If your feeling up to it, and one of the kids hasn't found it already, I think you should go for a little treasure hunt. Call it my last wish, so to speak. What's buried there was always meant to be yours, anyway._

_I have so many words, but so little time. The sun will rise soon, and I have a Breach to close. Hopefully this letter is never given to you, but if it is, I want you to know that you did everything you could. You may doubt yourself, but I never have. Not like this._

_Thank you for everything you've ever done for me, Cassie. The good and the bad; it's all made me grown as a person. I could never have become the woman I am today without you. I hope you'll remember me the same way._

  _Sincerely, Your Rose_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who had a crisis and dyed their hair pink, graduated high school, sort of applied to college, nearly got stolen by a man at work, had a few more crises, made a new friend, and rearranged their entire room? is me, bitch. i ALSO finally downloaded my word documents onto my new laptop and finished this chapter, even tho it kind of lacks what i wish it had. but i was #sad and wanted to give remi a baby bc i love children, so boom. she has a kid now. she stole him from shrek's swamp.  
> i'm TRYING to illustrate the progress of her growing out of using her brother like a shield, but i don't know how well that's working. oh well. it be like that. maybe someday i'll be a competent writer, but right now it's 3am and i really need to go to sleep. but i also want to update the first part of this series so who knows. sleep is for the weak anyway, isn't it? tell me if you find any spelling errors <3


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